


Superposition

by ai08



Category: Doctor Strange (2016), Iron Man (Movies), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Character Death, Character Study, Cloak of Levitation (Marvel), F/M, Kinda, M/M, Morgan Stark is a little shit, Murder Mystery, POV Alternating, Peter and Morgan bros for life, Pining, Revenge, Slow Burn, Soulmates, Stephen Strange in denial, more like cloak of matchmaking, more tags to come
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-17
Updated: 2020-03-09
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22293415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ai08/pseuds/ai08
Summary: Stephen Strange is trying to right a wrong from another universe before it happens again. Tony Stark is trying to move on from the death of his wife, but he's not certain he's ready. And Morgan? Morgan is trying to find the perfect match for her daddy so he can be happy again.Peter just wants to keep his job at Stark Industries and absolutelynevertell MJ how he feels. He isnottrying to help an eight-year-old set up her dad with the hot doctor some equations are telling her is perfect for her father.And hedefinitelyisn’t trying to get mixed up in revenge schemes or cross-dimensional murder mysteries, either. Yet here we are...
Relationships: Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Tony Stark/Stephen Strange
Comments: 56
Kudos: 127





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> NB: This fanfic is, like always, 1000% for funsies. Please don't take any of the fake science/computer tech I throw in here seriously. It's been almost a year since my last fic, but please enjoy some more slow burn IronStrange. ;)

Peter is easily overwhelmed by the excess noise and lack of personal space in the Stark’s living room. It’s not that there isn’t plenty of places to stand or sit- the Stark’s secondary residence in the city is nothing if not spacious and impeccably furnished- but there are simply too many extra bodies here, dozens of near-strangers- business partners, investors, senior employees- crowded around friends and family, here to pay their last respects.

Everyone seems to share frozen smiles and pitiful glances and even now, nearly two decades later, the atmosphere of a funeral, heavy and suffocating from Peter’s point of view, is nearly too much to bear. He knows this has nothing to do with him at all, though, so he tries to stay focused. He’s practically a near-stranger himself, here.

So, he stands off by himself, feeling stiff in his dark grey khakis, sweater, and pressed button up shirt. It’s cold enough outside to warrant extra layers so underneath it all he’s also wearing his ‘Lost Electron’ shirt. Because Peter had worn it to the Stark Industries company picnic last year; he had been invited to attend for being the only incoming college freshman to earn the Stark Internship. And Ms. Potts, instead of the usual business attire he saw her wear in press conferences and in the news, was wearing a t-shirt with the same exact joke.

He never spoke to her, but it had made him feel special, somehow. And wearing it today had felt like the right thing to do at the time.

The news of Ms. Potts’ death had hit everyone hard. Still, he didn’t know Mr. Stark’s wife like that. Being this sad feels… inappropriate, somehow. As if he doesn’t have a right to the amount of grief he’s experiencing. Peter takes a shaky breath and nervously twists his fingers, wondering if it would be rude if he were to leave now. He shifts from one foot to the other as he bites at the inside of his mouth, willing the lump in his throat to dissipate.

Peter takes a deep breath and tries to remind himself to be respectful and keep his attention on the family.

That proves to be terrible advice, however. Thinking of the Starks, Peter’s eyes seem to gravitate toward the middle of the room, where a few people sit huddled together on the furniture, enduring the comfort being thrust upon them from the attendees swarming around them. Colonel Rhodes, Mr. Stark’s best friend, stands like a silent sentinel behind the seated man, brows furrowed, and lips drawn into a deep frown. He squeezes Mr. Stark’s shoulder, but the other man doesn’t seem to notice.

Peter finds his employer, Mr. Stark, looking off into space as if somewhere else entirely. He’s dressed to perfection, but his face is sunken, and his eyes seem lost and child-like. Peter sucks in a breath, stomach nearly dropping out, as he shifts his gaze to look at Morgan- tiny, solemn little Morgan. She’s wedged between her father and Happy Hogan, who seem like giant pillars guarding her from further harm.

It’s all suddenly too much again for Peter and he’s seven and Uncle Ben is explaining what happened to his parents and then he’s twelve and May is explaining what happened to Uncle Ben and- He blinks and takes a step back, remembering where he is again.

Morgan must have noticed him staring because she meets his gaze, if only for a moment. She can’t be older than five but there isn’t a trace of a tear on her face. She’s used to the spotlight by now and she won’t let herself fall apart in front of the masses. But the shadows under her dark eyes and the vice-grip she has on her father’s arm is a dead give-away. Morgan’s world has been shaken to its very core and nothing is safe anymore.

It’s like looking into his past and that thought knocks the breath from Peter’s lungs. It’s been nearly two decades since the death of his own parents, and it still hurts. It still _hurts_.

“It will get better,” Peter hears a well-meaning older woman simper to Morgan and Mr. Stark as she pats the child on her knee as if that will make some sort of difference. He nearly sees red when those thoughtless words leave her mouth. Morgan catches his eye again and he wants to say something, but what is there to say? She’s only five and her mother is dead, and adults are lying to her just like they lied to him.

He never should have come. He wants to be supportive of Mr. Stark, but it isn’t like they are even friends; Peter is just an intern. And looking at Morgan is like looking into his own past and that’s just not where he wants to be weeks before his finals...

Peter turns around, intent on making a discrete exit before he starts crying in a room full of people he doesn’t know. As he makes it to the elevator, he’s certain he hears the youngest Stark telling someone to, “Shut _up_! Go away! My Daddy and my Happy will _punch_ you!”

Peter can’t help it; he snickers as the elevator door shuts. He laughs a bit more as he takes the car down to street level, but the momentary pause brings him back into his own sadness. The elevator door opens, and he blinks a few times, sniffling as he leaves. Peter wipes at his eyes as he exits Stark Tower and doesn’t notice the man, tall and well-dressed with premature grey hair at his temples, sweeping into the building after him.

If he had, he would have noticed the slight tremor in the older man’s hands. And the fact that they wore the same broken expression.

-

A few weeks later, Peter is at a meeting for work. It’s the first time Mr. Stark has been by and Peter, along with all of his colleagues in the room, holds his breath, uncertain of how to behave around their bereaved employer.

Mr. Stark, having swapped his usual suits for athletic wear but kept the sunglasses, is currently examining a prototype Peter has been working on. He scrutinizes it from every angle, runs the program a few times, and spends a few more moments thinking.

“Sloppy,” he finally says, and Peter can feel his heart dropping all the way to the floor as embarrassment and disappointment seep in. “Scrap it and start over.”

Peter looks to the left of his employer, unable to meet his eye. He wants to defend his work but doesn’t want to come off like he can’t handle criticism. Not to mention, there’s no telling what sort of emotional state Mr. Stark is in right now. Best to just suck it up.

Still, Peter can’t help but slink off to the restroom a while later to lick his wounds in private for a moment. He sighs, sits down on a toilet, and begins to text MJ, a girl from one of his electives.

A moment later, the door to the restroom opens, and someone walks in, whistling a care free tune. Which is a little odd, Peter can’t help but think, because everyone at Stark Industries seems in a dark mood these days, so soon after the death of their CEO. As if a dark cloud is hanging above the entire company, and not just those immediately effected, which spoke volumes of the late Ms. Potts’ character, honestly.

But. Peter supposes everyone is entitled to feel however they want to feel, and he dismisses the man’s humming to background noise.

He’s got to go back to work, and when he leaves the stall, the humming man is still there, washing his hands. He’s tall and brunette. Classically handsome with a thick beard and piercing blue eyes. His Stark Industries badge says _Quentin Beck_. Peter has seen him around before, but never worked with him personally. However, Peter recognizes him as one of the men standing in the back of the conference room just now.

“Don’t let him get to you, Pete,” Mr. Beck says and the familiarity he speaks to him with instantly comforts. Quentin Beck is older than Peter and obviously his senior but being spoken to like they’re peers is a soothing aloe to Peter’s hurt pride after being cut down by Tony Stark. “He’s just grieving right now. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh.”

Peter washes his hands and returns the smile. “Thanks, Mr. Beck.”

“Please,” Beck says, offering his hand. “Call me Quentin.”

After that they never really speak again, but every time they see each other in passing they make it a point to chat, or at least smile and wave. Peter hopes they get to work together soon.

-

Time passes and, on the surface, things seem to go back to normal. Peter completes his internship at Stark Industries and ends his freshman year of college with a perfect GPA. He decides on a major (engineering and physics) and his acquaintance with the dark and witty MJ blooms into a lasting friendship. Peter tries not to think too much about how his heart always seems to swell at the mere sight of her.

The mere _thought_ of her, really.

He’s invited back for another internship at Stark Industries again and doesn’t think about the tragedy of the previous year until one day while riding the elevator up to fulfil his internship duties at Stark Industries. The car slows down and the door opens and Mr. Stark, accompanied by his daughter, steps inside.

“-can’t run off from me like that, Morgan. You just _can’t._ ” Mr. Stark is saying, gently shaking Morgan’s arm a bit to get his point across. He’s wearing shades and a Gregorio suit even though he’s inside and it’s only 2 PM. “And you’re not even supposed to _be_ on this floor!” Next to him, hand tightly clasped in his, stands Morgan Stark, head stuck in her tablet as she pretends to ignore her dad. She’s wearing rain boots, a dress with equations stamped all over it, a cat-ear headband, and a deep blush across her nose from being fussed at.

Peter feels like an intruder (even though they are all in a public space) so he looks off to the side, pretending to examine the operating panel.

Mr. Stark finally seems to realize they have an audience and straightens himself up, nodding slightly at Peter.

Peter beams at his employer a bit stupidly. “What- uh- What floor, Mr. Stark?”

“R&D, same as you, kid,” Mr. Stark replies and Peter’s smile grows wider when he realizes that he must remember working with him last year. Peter quickly pushes the right button. But his smile falters suddenly when he remembers what had happened a few months into his internship last year. Virginia Potts, CEO of Stark Industries and wife of Tony Stark, had died in a car accident.

The special Peter had seen on cable one evening said that Ms. Potts had died the same way the late Mr. and Mrs. Stark, Tony Stark’s parents, had died.

The same way Peter’s own parents had died, actually. Just a random, tragic car accident.

Smiling so much feels dishonest and rude now, somehow. Peter’s smile falters further still when his gaze lands back on Morgan Stark, face still buried in her tablet and sullen expression from her scolding firmly in place. It’s really hard to not think about his parents and Uncle Ben whenever he sees her, and he doesn’t know why. Maybe he just has a soft spot for her because he had seen how miserable she had looked at her mom’s funeral.

~~Just about as miserable as he had felt when his own-~~

Peter feels a wave of sadness threaten to overcome him and he clears his throat, tearing his eyes away from the girl.

“Daddy, I can’t figure out what I’m doing wrong,” Morgan speaks up suddenly. Apparently, a few seconds is all the younger Stark needs to shake off an ego-bruising scolding. Shop talk instantly has Mr. Stark dropping his “tough dad” exterior to crouch next to his daughter and pull up a hologram of her work to get a closer look.

“Let me see what we’re doing here, kid,” Mr. Stark mutters.

Peter instantly recognizes it. That’s extremely advanced mathematics. His eyebrows threaten to collide with his hairline; he’s beyond impressed that a six-year-old is able to understand this type of equation but can’t stop his mouth from blurting out the correction when he finds her mistake. Judging from the look on Mr. Stark’s face, Peter had found the error well before him.

There’s an awkward pause that’s only interrupted by the elevator door opening.

Mr. Stark thanks him, sounding just as surprised as he looks, as he leads his daughter down the hall. Peter happens a glance at Morgan and she’s glaring so hard at him Peter’s afraid he’s going to burst into flames.

He doesn’t, which is great, and a few days later he gets an e-mail from Mr. Stark’s assistant asking him to join an upcoming project, which is even better.

**-**

More time passes. In his junior year, thanks to his internship, Peter’s path crosses with Ned Leeds, a young man who works in cyber security at Stark Industries. Their shared love of all things nerdy (especially Star Wars) makes them fast friends. And as a bonus, MJ likes him, too, so the three of them always get to hangout. Peter’s work in physics gets some local attention as well, and he and MJ start making it a point to hangout on a weekly basis which, to Peter, is a Huge Deal. He’s pretty sure he’s in love with her, but that thought honestly terrifies him. Not to mention, he’s pretty sure she likes Brad Davis, the guy in her pottery class…

He scowls at the thought and glares at his phone, typing and deleting and typing again. He’s trying to figure out how to ask MJ if she’d like to have dinner with him after class today. He doesn’t want it to sound like he’s asking her out, but he also doesn’t want it to sound like he’s not interested in her _either,_ just in case…

He sighs and deletes the message again, putting his phone down on the table.

“Texting MJ?” Ned asks. They’re sitting in a crowded coffee bar and Peter can barely hear him over the competing conversations. But it’s way too cold to go back outside. Peter wilts in his seat a bit. “I don’t know. She’s probably gonna have dinner with _Brad_ ,” Peter grouses sarcastically.

Ned purses his lips and shakes his head. “Peter, you’ve got to be direct about your feelings,” he says sagely. Peter kind of wants to roll his eyes a bit. It’s not that _easy_. And besides, Ned _always_ seems to have advise for Peter’s love life no matter how many times he and Betty call it quits and then change their minds.

He’s about to say something to that effect when Happy Hogan, Ned’s boss, walks in and makes a bee line towards them.

“Leeds,” Hogan says, nodding at Ned. Ned nods back, looking a little confused.

“Hey, Pete,” Happy says, turning his attention to Peter. “I need a favor.”

Peter raises both brows. Happy has been sort-of-kind-of seeing his aunt for a few months now so the two of them have had a few conversations, but Peter didn’t think he knew Happy like _that_. Still, he didn’t want to be rude. “Sure, what’s up?”

“I’m supposed to watch Morgan tonight, but I promised May I’d help her with her fundraiser this evening,” Happy says. “Tony is fine with her tagging along, but we’d just bore her. Any way you could stick around tonight and sort of keep an eye on her? Maybe show her some of your- your cool science things?”

“My cool science things,” Peter parrots back.

“Yeah,” Happy says with a nod, indicating with his hands. “Show her that super-goop you invented.”

“The carbon nanotube slime?” he asks, voice a little excited.

“Whatever, kid. Sure, yeah.”

Peter wants to say that he’s got plans, or at least that he’s _trying_ to have plans. But instead he says, “Yeah, sure. Of course.”

Happy grins and slaps him on the arm and Peter winces a little.

That evening, Happy and May enjoy Thai and intimate conversation about how to save the world in the Parker’s tiny kitchen. A morose Morgan Stark sits at Peter’s desk, refusing to take her eyes off of her tablet. She’s decked in clashing rainbow patterns and her My Little Pony beanie nearly covers her eyes.

“Do you want a snack?” Peter asks, awkwardly hovering in the doorframe to his own bedroom. He’s never had a conversation with the kid and the last time they saw each other, he’s pretty sure he’d accidentally offended her somehow.

Morgan cuts her eyes up to him and Peter swears he can feel how angry she is.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” she says, then looks back down at her tablet.

Peter opens his mouth to snap back at her but can’t really think of anything to say. So, he tries again. “Okay, well, you’re more than welcome to play with anything on my des-”

“I don’t want to play with your stupid things,” Morgan snaps before he can even finish speaking.

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, so he just grabs his laptop and sits down in the hallway to play online games with Ned. After a while his stomach growls and Peter heads for the kitchen. May and Happy have taken their “planning” into the living room, so Peter keeps his eyes trained on the fridge.

They turned off the lights in the kitchen but left the radio on. Peter steps forward to turn it off when he catches the tail end of an announcement. Today is the anniversary of Ms. Potts’ car accident. The two-year anniversary of her death is this week.

Morgan’s awful mood suddenly makes sense and Peter is over come with a sudden sense of pity and understanding for the young girl sitting in his room. He gets enough junk-food for two people but when he pokes his head in his doorway, Morgan is no longer sitting at his desk.

She’s curled up on the floor fast asleep, with Peter’s bright red and blue headphones over her ears and an entire jar of his carbon nanotube slime smeared all around her.

**-**

_How to tell your friend you like her_ Peter types into the search engine as he leaves the research lab. It’s nearly the end of his senior year. He’s _got_ to tell MJ how he feels before he explodes.

“Guess what!” Ned exclaims, grinning from ear to ear. He’s wearing a standard Stark Industries security guard uniform and an employee badge around his neck that is identical to Peter’s. Peter yelps, nearly dropping his phone at being startled.

“You have clearance for this floor now?” Peter takes a guess, willing his heart rate to return to normal.

Ned purses his lips. “No, dude.” A pause. “I mean, yes, but that’s not why I’m here.”

Peter stares at him, waiting for him to keep talking.

“Betty and I are going out again,” Ned says, voice worldly and smug. “After work. To this cool place she found last week. You should ask MJ out and come with us!”

Peter tries to keep a neutral expression on his face but it’s nearly impossible. Ned and Betty are still on-again, off-again every other month and at this point Peter has given up on trying to keep up with their relationship.

They walk into the breakroom and Peter heads for the fridge to grab his lunch. He offers Ned half of his sandwich but Ned declines, saying he’d already had lunch at his desk.

“Oh yeah! Your aunt came by this morning,” Ned says, a knowing grin on his face.

Peter narrows his eyes. “So, they _are_ dating,” he replies. “I _knew_ it.”

“No, they’re not,” a young girl says. It’s Morgan Stark.

She’s sitting at a table nearest the windows, face peering at the two men from over her Stark Tablet. Her hair, dark as night, falls to her shoulders. She’s wearing a purple hoodie and unicorn headphones and the look on her face shows just how much she wishes they’d argue with her, so she’d have something fun to do for a moment.

Peter would know that look anywhere; he sees it on his boss’s face at least once a day when someone tries to prove him wrong.

“What are you doing up here, Morgan?” Peter asks lightly. He knows she’s not allowed on this floor; there’s too many things for an intelligent and precocious adolescent to get into. He sees her at work with Mr. Stark from time to time, but never on this floor.

She rolls her eyes. “Your aunt said they should just be friends last week,” Morgan continues, ignoring Peter’s comment because she’d rather talk about what she’d rather talk about, and not minor details like security clearance and _who’s_ supposed to be _where_. “I don’t think they’re going to work out,” she says with a nonchalant shrug.

“That’s not tru-” Peter cuts himself off and blinks at her, cheeks heating up. He can’t believe he was about to get into an argument with his boss’s eight-year-old about someone else’s relationship. Or lack thereof.

“She brought him a coffee this morning,” Ned supplies, backing up Peter. “And she stayed for like forty minutes. Mr. Hogan was beside himself.”

Morgan cuts her gaze back to Ned and considers him for a moment, then looks back down at her tablet and returns to whatever it is she had been working on before joining their conversation, deep frown now firmly in place. She types furiously, deletes something, and then tries again, her frown only deepening.

Peter turns away from Morgan and lowers his voice, hoping she won’t hear him. “Should we tell Mr. Stark? Or Happy?” he asks.

Ned shrugs. “I can text Mr. Hoga-”

“Don’t even think about it,” Morgan snaps as she stands, gathering up her tablet and notebooks. She lifts her chin and stares them down even though she’s more than a foot and a half shorter than both Ned and Peter. 

She slings her pink fox bookbag over her shoulder and tramps past them, her Elsa boots blinking light blue with every stomp. She pauses at the door and turns to look back at Peter. “May is _apparently_ 80% compatible with my Happy,” she says almost begrudgingly. She looks back down at her tablet and glares, clearly upset with whatever it’s displaying. “So… I guess _maybe_ it could work.”

Peter is too confused to even ask her what she’s talking about as he watches her get on the elevator.

Neither of them bothers to tell Mr. Stark or Happy that they had seen her. Peter reasons with himself that if she had done anything she’s not supposed to, security would have definitely alerted them.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NB: 2/7/2020 I did some heavy editing and decided that this story would flow better if I broke up the POV within the chapters instead of switching with each chapter. As a result, I have gone back and added other character's POVs to previously existing chapters. I will mark new sections in bold so you can read them without having to comb through what you've already read. I apologize for doing this! But I really think it will work better this way. Thanks!!**

Sitting back at his desk, Stephen scowls at the ancient leather binder labeled Soul 5,326,586,223,198. On the cover countless names have been scribbled. The farther back they go, the more faded they become. Some are in a language long forgotten and others are no longer visible. Most of the names have been written with a bold, sturdy hand. The newest one, _Anthony Edward Stark_ , is written in shaky, uncertain script.

Stephen’s job is to observe. He knows that. He’s always known that. But the problem is… Another of his kind doesn’t seem to know that. Because for the past six reincarnation cycles of this particular soul, it hasn’t made it past age forty-five. Which in and of itself isn’t too terribly out of the ordinary or even all that interesting. A lot of humans succumb to illness, murder, or the sheer boredom of their own pitiful existence before their prime.

But _this_ particular human… Stephen drums his fingers on his desk, annoyed. _This_ one’s actually interesting. In every incarnation, in any universe, he always makes some sort of groundbreaking discovery, in whatever field catches his eye. His is always one of the minds to help shape the era. There isn’t a dimension that hasn’t been touched, altered, or molded in some way by his consciousness. By his brilliance. By his vision. There isn’t a single history book in any reality that doesn’t praise his name, whatever it may be at the time. 

And lately, some _asshole_ keeps offing him before he ever has a chance to even get his hands dirty! Stephen scowls at the thought and crosses his arms, jaw clenched. Yes, he’s just meant to observe. But part of the fun of observing is watching the apex and pending destruction of a world... And if the best and brightest aperture of perception that humanity has to offer keeps getting snuffed out before he even _gets_ anywhere, how will Stephen ever get to see the really interesting stuff? Humanity as a whole certainly isn’t destined for greatness. Few species ever are, in the end. But this particular soul. This particular spec of awareness-

His hands ache, sharp and pulsing, pulling him from his thoughts. Stephen grimaces, clenching and unclenching them, trying to ignore the quiver.

The constant world hopping, searching for this soul before it was killed again, again, and yet _again_ , has really done a number on his corporal form. He can still astral project with the best of them. But over two years ago, his physical form seemed to start to… glitch, and painfully. In particular, his hands.

It’s a good thing he’s planning on staying on this Earth for the foreseeable future because he’s not certain he can harness the energy to physically slip into any other dimension or worlds right now. At times it feels like it’s all he can do to even _maintain_ a physical form. He feels so worn down. So tired.

But that doesn’t matter. Whoever is after this soul- his name is Tony Stark now, he reminds himself- _whatever_ is after him doesn’t give up. It never has. So, neither will he.

Three years ago, right before Stephen made his way to this corner of the multi-verse, there was an attempt on Stark’s life. Luckily, his wife died instead. This world has no idea how close it came to losing one of the most influential minds in the entirety of human existence.

But while Stephen is certain it’s for the best that Virginia Potts passed away instead of Tony Stark, he still feels a pang of _something_ in his chest when he thinks about the loss of her life. When he thinks about the pain the man must have endured at the loss of that life. ~~The pain he always seems to endure in every incarnation while Stephen just _watches_~~ \---

Stephen shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. Yes, it’s all very sad, but that’s not the _point_. The point is that someone, somewhere, is messing with the natural order of existence. This soul is trying to bring humanity, universe by universe, into a new era of thinking and technological advancement. But every time he makes headway somewhere, something happens. Every time he’s about to make an important discovery, he’s murdered. Cursed with a physical ailment. Driven mad. And once, driven to suicide.

Stephen closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, willing his thoughts to go anywhere but _there_. God, anywhere but there.

“Are you still brooding over your crush?” Wong asks, appearing in the doorway of his study. Stephen scowls up at him but says nothing.

“He’s a robotics engineer this time. That’s cute,” Wong says conversationally, shuffling through paperwork that doesn’t belong to him at all. Stephen looks to the documents in Wong’s hands and wills them into their proper files. They dutifully obey, disappearing from sight.

“I’m sorry, did you need something?” Stephen asks pointedly.

“Yeah. It’s your turn to make dinner,” Wong replies, unruffled. “Oh, and check your messages. I found something you might be interested in.”

Wong leaves as quietly as he arrived. Stephen pulls his phone out and clicks on a link to a dark web forum where someone has just posted their manifesto, hinting at several locations in New York they’re threatening to attack.

He glances at his calendar. One of the locations is where the Pepper Potts foundation will be hosting an event. He wonders if it’s just a coincidence, or if this is attempt number two on Stark’s life. (Not including other lifetimes and plans he's already thwarted, anyway.) Stephen supposes he’s about to find out.

For about two seconds he thinks about tipping off the police, but he doesn’t want to tip off anyone _else_ on accident, just in case. He’ll just handle it himself.

If he can find and stop whoever keeps doing this, then things can finally go back to normal. He can go back to observing and recording existence in his assigned dimensions and Wong can stop giving him shit for taking on a side project. He can go back to watching ~~that soul~~ the worlds from afar, enjoying his genius. His creativity. His tenacity-

Stephen clears his throat and straightens a few pieces of paper on his desk. A picture falls to the floor. For a moment it feels as if his heart has, too.

The photograph is black and white and faded, and Stephen wishes he would just throw it away. He eyes it for a moment, then turns back to his work, pretending not to see it. He shouldn’t waste his time on pointless things. He just needs to figure out what the hell is happening so everything can go back to normal.

A light fluttering of fabric catches Stephen’s attention; his cloak picks up the photo gently and offers it to him between the folds of its’ cloth. Stephen clenches his jaw and doesn’t take it. “No, thanks.” The cloak pushes it toward him again, as if to urge him on. Stephen sighs and snatches it from the not-quite hand and carelessly tosses it to his desk. It lands face up.

A man, handsome and bearded, wears a vest with his sleeves rolled up, showing off strong forearms. He points to a chalkboard, upon which countless equations and diagrams have been scrawled expertly. He’s smiling vibrantly, focused and so vividly _alive_. Stephen can’t remember what year or which Earth that had been on anymore. But the camera had just been invented, and Stephen couldn’t help but take a photo.

The cloak rests a bit of its’ hem on Stephen’s head, giving him a consoling _pat-pat_. Stephen’s eye twitches a bit. 

\- 

It’s cold and dark out. The cloak had expected to come, indicating to the snow, but it is just too conspicuous on this particular Earth. Even after a few years, it still doesn’t understand that not every world has magic and therefore it can’t just wave to children or touch flowers or pet dogs. Stephen idly wonders if it’s still floating dejectedly by one of the windows, seeming to gaze longingly out onto the street.

He wraps his coat around himself tightly to keep out the chill, but it does a poor job. He doesn’t want to draw attention to himself, so he’s opted to blend in to with the crowd and wear a tux to the formal affair and it’s not very warm. He wishes he had worn a thicker coat now, or that he could warm himself magically, but that wouldn’t exactly help him to blend in, either.

He makes it to the convention center and is pleased to see that there’s ample security; more guards have been posted than Stark originally planned and there’s police, as well. Good. At least Stark takes his safety seriously and thought to take the news about the online manifesto seriously. That makes Stephen’s job _marginally_ easier.

He would rather not deal with security himself, so he finds a secluded spot and coaxes the wall to allow him to slip through. It graciously complies and he walks into the grand entrance, dusting off his lapels as he takes in the room.

It’s spacious and elegant and yet _still_ full of entirely too many people. Groups of them crowded everywhere, making it nearly impossible to pass by anyone without forcing interaction. He’ll manage it, though. Stephen makes his way toward the stairs, intent on patrolling from the second floor balcony. Not that he needs the added vision, but it couldn’t hurt. Besides, since there are so many people here it probably will be beneficial.

“Strange? Is that you?”

Stephen pauses mid-stride and turns to see who’s speaking to him. It’s Nick West, a surgeon from Metro General. Stephen tries not to groan. If he had to run into someone- he wouldn’t have minded running into Christine Palmer, actually- but it just had to be this dickhead.

“It’s been years! We miss you at the hospital.” West extends his hand, smiling. Stephen half-heartedly accepts the handshake but doesn’t say anything as he’s much more focused on taking in his surroundings. He doubts West means it, anyway. He’s probably happily killing off patients left and right these days.

“Hope you’re doing well?” the surgeon continues, openly looking down to Stephen’s hands. “It’s not the same without you.”

Stephen says nothing and tucks his hands, suddenly trembling and painful, into his pockets.

“We could really use you for consultations, you know,” West adds.

Anger and another emotion he’d rather not acknowledge simmer under Stephen’s skin.

“I’m sure you could,” he responds bluntly and continues on his way without excusing himself. He thinks it wouldn’t be a tragedy if West were to fall on his face. He must have thought it too loudly because a second later, there’s a dull _thud_ followed by a groan of pain and several gasps. Stephen smirks.

Upstairs there’s much less people, and he’s thankful for that small reprieve. Scanning the room below him, he turns his attention to the dance floor. In the back corner, farthest from the band, he finds Tony Stark and his daughter, Morgan.

Stark is wearing a dark, fitted tux of obvious quality. She’s got on a red and golden gown so detailed she could be mistaken for a princess. Morgan giggles, standing on Stark’s shoes with her arms around his torso. He’s holding her close, gently swaying them both side to side. A moment later he surprises her with a twirl. Morgan shrieks with laughter, almost tripping. Tony grins down at her, his smile taking up nearly his whole face.

It’s a domino effect and Tony’s grin makes Morgan laugh more, which makes Tony chuckle. The sound of her father’s laughter doubles her joy and amusement and her laughter only grows. Morgan’s giggle must be hilarious to Stark, because at this point, he’s laughing nearly as hard as she is.

They eventually attempt to compose themselves, but Morgan cuts her gaze back to her father and he grins. She absolutely loses it all over again.

They are, to be frank, a ridiculous sight. Stephen stands, transfixed at the sight, unaware his breath has caught in his throat. Unbidden memories swarm his mind and a thousand lifetimes suddenly stand before him as if overlaid and meshed together. That smile… So vibrant. So focused. So vividly _alive_ -

A tiny red dot appears in the middle of Tony’s forehead. Startled from his thoughts, Stephen’s eyes widen and he glances to the tall windows behind him. The gunman must be on the roof next door. Without uttering a word, Stephen convinces space and time to ignore the rules for a moment. When everything around him begins to slow down, he takes a step and finds himself on the rooftop, standing behind a man crouched beside an AT sniper riffle.

Before the man realizes he’s no longer alone, Stephen is directly behind him, pinning both of his arms painfully behind his back. The gun, now a bouquet of orange blossoms, sits harmless on the ledge.

“Get off me!” the man shouts, breathing hard. He tries to buck Stephen off but it’s impossible.

Stephen holds his arms tighter, twisting them a bit. The gunman hisses in pain. “Who hired you?” Stephen growls.

The gunman laughs, his voice suddenly taking on an other-worldly quality. “You won’t stop me,” he rasps. He barely sounds human, it’s as if something else is trying to use vocal chords for the first time.

“Who are you?” Stephen demands, shaking him.

The man just continues to laugh. “Again, and again, and _again_ ,” he sputters, the words not forming quite right on his lips. “I can’t be stopped. He’s going to die again and again and _ag_ -”

Stephen silences him with a thought. This man is possessed, he’s not going to get anything out of him. That still doesn’t change the fact that this man published a violent manifesto online, though. Making sure he’s still got a good grip on his arms; Stephen takes him to the nearest police officer.

Officer Rogers, according to his badge, is athletic and broad shouldered and tediously clean-cut. He leans against his vehicle, talking to his partner, when Stephen appears beside them. Rogers straightens, startled. His partner, Wilson, gives an incredulous look. “Where the hell did you come from, man-”

“I think you might want this,” Stephen says, shoving the criminal toward them.

-

Peter is attending The Pepper Potts Foundation charity event for refugees this evening to be supportive of his employer. He asks MJ if she’d go with him, but panics and makes it a point of clarifying that he means as just friends. She gets a weird look on her face for moment, but nevertheless agrees. She looks beautiful tonight, wild curls cascading down her back and slender curves draped in elegant black. Not for the first time, he wonders how he got so lucky to be her friend and can’t bring himself to dare hope for anything more.

“How many feather dusters had to give up their life to make that sad dream come true?” MJ asks dryly as they dance, tilting her head toward a woman wearing a dress that looks like its half gown and half ostrich. Peter snorts, turning his head into her neck to conceal his laughter. The contact makes him gasp and he pulls back. They stare at each other for what feels like eons.

After the dance, Peter leads her to a seat at one of the tables farthest from the dance floor. But soon Betty spots them and drags Ned with her to join them. MJ has a mildly pained look on her face but before she can say anything, Peter is heading for the bar to get them all drinks. If he has to deal with Ned talking about Betty at work, then MJ can at least deal with them while he gets refreshments.

A tiny, familiar figure is sitting at the bar, unicorn headphones firmly in place. But instead of a hoodie, or obnoxiously colorful outfit, this time Morgan Stark is wearing a princess-style silk gown in vibrant shades of red and gold that’s covered in little flowers. It’s fitting, given the Valentine’s theme of the evening.

“What would you recommend?” Peter attempts a joke when he approaches her, leaning against the bar. He hasn’t seen her in a few weeks, not since that time in the breakroom at work. He doesn’t know what prompts him to talk to her. ~~A memory of the funeral pops into his mind and~~ \- he clears his throat and shakes his head, telling his thoughts to go anywhere but there.

Morgan glances at him, then looks back down at her tablet. Peter makes a face and clears his throat, trying to get the bartender’s attention while pretending he wasn’t just snubbed by a child, but someone else beats him to it.

“Scotch neat,” a man says, voice clearly disturbed. He’s much taller than Peter and wears an expensive, if understated, tuxedo in all black. The hair at his temples has started to go grey prematurely, probably from work and stress, his beard is meticulously manicured, and he seems to have a permanent scowl on his face.

Peter and Morgan both openly stare at him and when he finally notices, Peter quickly looks away. Morgan keeps staring, though. She lifts her chin, daring him to say something.

To his credit, the man simply blinks at her for a moment, the color oddly draining from his face when he seems to realize something. “What?” he finally barks, sounding more panicked than annoyed.

“You’re not on Daddy’s guest list,” Morgan says, accusing. “I know _everyone_ who’s supposed to be here.”

At that, the man raises a brow. “And?” he continues, voice low.

Morgan looks at him for a moment longer, scanning every inch of his face with her eyes.

“Doctor Stephen Strange,” she finally says.

The bartender tries to hand the man his drink. But Stephen Strange (apparently) doesn’t seems to notice as he can’t seem to take his eyes off of Morgan. Peter looks from the older man and then back to her. Morgan happens to be holding her tablet at _just_ the right angle so as to give Peter a clear view of the screen.

Displayed on the tablet are several photos of the doctor, statistics, personal information, social media posts, and dozens of graphs and equations Peter can’t seem to parse. But it all seems to be extremely personal information about the man before them.

Extremely personal information that Morgan had _just_ accessed by looking at Strange. Anxiety begins to pool in the pit of Peter’s stomach. After a moment a number appears in the upper right-hand corner of the doctor’s profile, flashing green. Morgan gasps.

 _90%_ the tablet says _._ _90% of what?_ Peter wonders with panic and dread when sudden realization slaps him in the face.

Morgan hadn’t gotten that information just by _looking_ at Dr. Strange. She had read his biochemical signal and... _Jesus_. Morgan was using tech she had swiped from her dad’s lab. Probably the day he and Ned had seen her on the floor she wasn’t supposed to be on. And neither of them had said anything or done anything about it…

His gut twists painfully, anxiety clawing its way up his throat.

“You’re perfect,” Morgan whispers under her breath, still staring at the doctor. When realization of what she’s given away dawns on her she gasps again and clutches the tablet close to her chest, whipping around to glare at Peter. Stephen Strange takes the moment of her distraction as his cue to leave and escapes back into the crowd of party-goers.

Morgan turns back around to talk to the older man, but he’s already disappeared. She _growls_ and turns back around to glare at Peter. “You ruined it!” she yells, even though Peter hadn’t done anything yet.

“Ruined _what?_ ” Peter asks. “ _What_ is he perfect for?”

Morgan scoffs, ignoring him. Peter is getting the distinct feeling that Morgan Stark thinks it’s beneath her to explain herself to him. 

Peter tries to take a deep, calming breath. “Morgan… You can’t go around using your dad’s stuff like that,” he explains gently. “That sort of equipment is really dangerous, okay?”

“I’m not stupid,” she snips. “I’m being careful.”

“Yeah, but… What exactly are you _doing_?” Peter asks.

Morgan scowls at him and turns away.

“Mind your own business,” she grumbles darkly.

“I can’t do that,” Peter says firmly. “You really shouldn’t have that tech.”

Morgan’s expression shifts; she’s clearly changing tactics. She considers Peter for a moment, thinking something over. After a while, she says, “I’m finding my Daddy the perfect match.” Her smile is smug and self-congratulatory.

Peter blinks at her. “the perfect… What?”

Morgan sighs. “The perfect match,” she explains slowly. “I figured out the equation for love,” she says with a shrug as if they’re talking about the weather and not a complex human emotion. “It was pretty simple,” she adds. Her glare returns. “My daddy deserves to be the first person who gets to use it,” she says sharply.

Peter has no idea what to address first, so he just goes for it. “You can’t… You really shouldn’t meddle in people’s lives like that,” he says kindly. “You need to give me back your dad’s stuff.”

“I’m not meddling,” Morgan states crossly, not handing over a damn thing. “I’m _helping_.”

“Yes, but… But you really shouldn’t mess with this type of equipment,” he continues. “Or… you know, with people’s private lives.”

She rolls her eyes.

“I’m going to have to tell Mr. Sta- I mean- your dad about this,” Peter continues, trying, and failing, to sound authoritative.

Morgan raising a single dark brow. “No, you’re not,” she says.

“Yes, I am!” he counters, putting his hands on his hips.

“If you tell on me, then _I’ll_ tell Michelle Jones you have a _crush_ on her,” she says triumphantly. “Don’t _mess_ with me, Parker. I _know_ stuff.”

Peter balks and immediately tries to school his expression, but it’s too late. Morgan can see that she’s found a weakness.

“Go ahead,” Peter says lightly, even though his stomach is in knots. “That technology is too dangerous for you, Morgan. You could get hurt.”

She stares at him for a moment, as if she can’t believe he’d have the nerve to talk to her like that.

“If you tell anyone I took anything, _I’ll_ tell daddy you saw me on a restricted floor and didn’t tell anybody about it,” she finally says, grinning like the cat who caught the mouse The color drains from Peter’s face when he realizes what she’s getting at.

“Are you… Are you blackmailing me?” he asks, voice high-pitched and incredulous.

She gives a half-shrug. “I guess that’s up to you,” Morgan responds. She’s smiling sweetly but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Peter can’t believe he’s ever felt sorry for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: Sorry for the delay! Life gets busy. Just a reminder, this WILL be a slowburn. Sorry not sorry. ;) 
> 
> The next chapter SHOULD be up within a week. Thanks for reading! I'm so glad y'all are enjoying this!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Read chapter two first! There are two new sections from Stephen's POV marked in bold. There is one new section in this chapter marked in bold. The next chapter will have another previously posted section then moving forward all other chapters will only have new material. I'm so sorry to edit like this but I think it makes the story flow better!**
> 
> NB: Padmasana- Sanskrit for Lotus pose.
> 
> **NB: 2/7/2020 I did some heavy editing and decided that this story would flow better if I broke up the POV within the chapters instead of switching with each chapter. As a result, I have gone back and added other character's POVs to previously existing chapters. I will mark new sections in bold so you can read them without having to comb through what you've already read. I apologize for doing this! But I really think it will work better this way. Thanks!!**

Morgan doesn’t have time to deal with the silly intern who seems to think he’s in charge of her. Just because she's ~~obsessed with~~ likes his YouTube channel doesn't mean she's going to listen to him. She’s got to go and find Doctor Stephen Strange before he gets away! Her tech (Okay, okay, her dad’s tech) has never picked up anyone that quickly. And she’s _certainly_ never gotten a reading that high on anyone else… Ninety percent! Could anyone (other than her mom, obviously) be more perfect for her dad? She’d be doing a victory dance if she wasn’t so pissed off right now.

“Are you… Are you blackmailing me?” Peter asks, voice shaking like a wuss even though he’s more than twice her age. It’s all Morgan can do not to laugh in his face. Peter's extremely smart. ~~And kind. And funny.~~ But he's also kind of dumb. This is going to be _too_ easy.

Morgan gives a non-committal shrug and she can practically feel him gulp like the big baby he is. “I guess that’s up to you,” she says lightly. She puts her headphones on over her ears and hops down from the bar stool, intent on hunting down the tall doctor.

Peter places himself in her way, hands on his hips as if that’s supposed to be intimidating or something. She purses her lips and scowls at him. “What do you want?” she demands.

“I want you to give that stuff back to your dad,” he says firmly. “Now.”

Morgan’s eyes flash dangerously. There’s only two people in the entire world who are allowed to talk to her like that. And Peter B. Parker is most certainly not either of those individuals.

She huffs like a bull and stomps passed him. Peter tries to stop her, but she steps on his foot in the process. Morgan’s dress shoe has a small heel and she catches his toes at the perfect angle; he cries in pain. She rolls her eyes, storming off. It’s only been a few minutes, and Stephen _did_ just order a drink; there’s no way he’s left… right?

Now that she’s gotten a reading of him, finding him should be easy. She walks around the crowded dance floor for a bit before heading outside onto the balcony. But no matter where she stands, her tablet can’t seem to pick him up at all anymore. She widens the parameters but still, nothing. Either her program is glitching (which isn’t likely) or Stephen Strange is already gone.

She turns around on the spot a few times and a hopeless, sick feeling of desperation starts to claw its way around her stomach and up her throat. The chill of the wintery night air doesn’t even register.

He can’t be gone. She was so close. She’s been looking for _weeks,_ and she’s finally found a match! Her daddy is special and not just anyone will do. What are the odds she’ll find someone else that compatible? And so quickly?

It _has_ to be him. She _has_ to find him again.

“Morgan! Morgan!” someone’s shouting her name, but it’s muffled, distant. She looks up and through the glass doors of the balcony sees her dad and Happy jogging toward her, pushing people out of the way in the process. Tony slams the door open and barely makes it to her before falling to his knees, pulling her into a fierce hug. He presses his face into her hair, holding her close for a moment. Morgan, shocked, pats him on the back with one hand.

“Dad? What’s going on?”

He only hugs her tighter. “Everything’s fine. We’re going home now, Maguna,” he says softly. The old nickname halts any questions on her lips. He hasn’t called her that in ages.

Happy stands by the door. His face is stern and he’s speaking into his microphone. In the distance, she can see all the security that’s usually hidden as plain as day. The lights from police cars flash below the balcony so brightly she wonders how many are down there.

“Okay,” she says quietly, wrapping her arms around his neck. Tony picks her up, holding her even tighter.

As they leave the building, she checks her tablet again, just in case. But the doctor is long gone.

She asks her dad and Happy what’s going on as they head home. She’s used to having a security detail but tonight there’s an extra four guards with them. No one will answer her questions, and when whining and pouting doesn’t get her what she wants, she eventually falls silent and sits back, crossing her arms over her chest. But there’s barely enough room to comfortably hold this defiant posture as her dad and Happy are sitting so close to her on either side.

When they get home, Tony insists on sitting with her while she falls asleep. She hasn’t needed that in a while, but she doesn’t argue. He seems so shaken. She crawls in bed and grabs a penguin stuffy before it falls to the carpeted floor. She lays back on her pillows and Tony turns down the lights until there’s only a faint glow left and the plastic stars and planets on her ceiling come to life.

Tony smooths the hair back from her face. He’s smiling at her, but Morgan can tell he’s wearing his brave face. There’s a heaviness in his eyes and in his shoulders she knows he tries to hide from her. A heaviness that’s there more often than not.

That thought only makes her more determined to find that doctor as soon as possible.

She tries to ask questions again, but he only wants to reassure her that everything is fine. So, she gives up and waits. He can’t stay awake forever. Exhaustion finally wins out and after about an hour, her dad is snoring softly, head pillowed in his arms atop her fuzzy comforter.

When she’s absolutely certain he’s sound asleep, she sneaks over to her desk and grabs her tablet. It takes her a few minutes to find any answers as her dad has some sturdy child locks on her devise. Still, it’s nothing she can’t figure out. Morgan jumps through a few more digital hurdles and finally finds what she’s been looking for. When she does, a chill runs down her spine.

There could have been a shooting at the charity ball. The charity her mother’s foundation had organized.

She reads through a few more reports, trying to get as much information as possible. She nearly has to bite her tongue to stop from gasping out loud when she finds the initial police report. A man, apparently heavily armed, had been apprehended by a civilian. A civilian by the name of Stephen Strange.

She’s only more determined now.

Morgan _has_ to meet him.

-

 **Tony Stark is under extra protection while the police investigate the incident at the convention center.** Stephen is certain he doesn’t need to check on Stark; he doubts anything will happen so soon. Especially with all the extra security. Even so…

He doesn’t want to risk it. Not this time. Not again.

Stephen waits for Wong to retire for the evening then shuts himself in his study. He sits in padmasana, exhales, and steps out of his physical form. His next step brings his astral body outside the door to Stark’s private lab. Stephen pauses for a moment before stepping through the door.

AC/DC plays over the sound system. Tony stands, hand to his chin, as his considers the holographic diagrams before him. Strange raises a brow when he notices what must be Stark’s pet project. Stark Industries is a robotics company. It might dabble in several other fields, but they’ve never shown any interest in funding research for quantum gravity. Yet here he is, trying to parse the missing link between quantum mechanics and general relativity in his down time. Stephen wonders why that particular mystery is always so fascinating to this soul.

The song changes, but it’s just more _AC/DC_. Stephen rolls his eyes at the obnoxious music. Whatever Stark is working on, it must be going well, because he’s grinning when he tells JARVIS to end program. Stark nods his head to the beat, pretending to drum for a bit. Stephen smirks, amused, before he even realizes it. The engineer sings along to a line or two, swaying his hips a bit. Stephen’s eyes follow every move.

There’s a crashing sound, and Stark flinches, entire body suddenly tense with energy.

“JARVIS. Cut music. I need visuals.”

“Yes, sir.”

Stark’s eyes fly from image to image, finally resting on Morgan’s room, where they remain until he’s certain she’s fine.

He over reacted. Nothing is wrong; Dum-E simply broke a bit of equipment it was trying to clean. Or fix. Or take apart. Stephen isn’t entirely sure. And from the look on Stark’s face, neither is he.

“ _Jesus_ , Dum-E,” Stark exclaims, clutching at his chest. “I don’t think I’ve had enough panic attacks this week,” he deadpans, even though he’s gone white. “Why don’t you set off a blow torch while you’re at it?”

Stephen is glad to see he’s not the only one who talks to his belongings. And then promptly wonders what he’s still doing here, just watching Tony Stark talk to an archaic, and obviously faulty, robot. Stark is fine. There’s no reason to stay.

Tony drags his hands down his face and exhales, long and deep. It’s obvious from the look in his eye the reprieve from worry is over now. “JARVIS, call officer Rogers. I want to see if they’ve found anything.”

“Good luck with that,” Stephen comments dryly. They’re not going to find any evidence. Stephen made sure that everyone, including the gunman, thinks it was just a random act of violence. Not a mass shooting used to conceal Stark’s murder.

He lingers a moment longer before he nods in goodbye, even though Tony Stark has no idea he’s there.

Stephen stops at Morgan’s room before he leaves. Since he’s here, he may as well see if he can get answers. Mainly, how had she known his name?

Morgan’s room is just as obnoxious and fantastic as any other little girl’s room would be if their father was a billionaire. But she’s not in her luxurious bed, or castle tower, or even at her desk, which looks more like a mini state of the art computer lab.

Morgan sits outside on her balcony, headphones on, as she gazes up at the night sky. It’s hard to see stars in the city so Stephen isn’t sure why she bothers looking. Beside her sits her tablet, an open jar of slime, and several notebooks. She’s written down some café addresses in sparkly pink gel pen, and has a few maps open on her tablet. Stephen narrows his eyes, wondering what she’s up to.

He comes closer to get a better look, but before he can she closes the maps to gaze at her background picture. It’s a photo of a much younger Morgan with her parents at her birthday party. Stephen idly wonders if that was the last birthday Virginia Potts was alive for.

“Did you send Daddy a guardian angel, Mommy?” she asks, voice quiet but hopeful.

Stephen gasps, coming back into his physical form in his study in Greenwich Village.

-

"I’m going to see Daddy, now,” Morgan announces as she leaves her bedroom and quickly heads for the elevator. She’s oscillating between nervous and excited and she can hardly contain it.

“Have you finished all of your assignments?” JARVIS asks.

“Yep yep,” Morgan replies, rocking back and forth on her feet, waiting for JARVIS to let her on the elevator.

“Did you forget that you have gymnastics this evening, young miss?” the polite AI gently reminds her. 

Morgan groans and stomps a foot. “I _hate_ gymnastics.”

“Alright,” JARVIS says almost kindly. “There is another spot open in the youth chess club. Shall I sign you up for that?”

“Chess _bores_ me,” she sighs dramatically, getting impatient. “I want to go to the labs.”

“How about the Lego Society?” JARVIS continues, ignoring her. “They’ll be meeting at the library at six.”

“How about you let me on the elevator, and I don’t cut your wires?” Morgan grouses darkly.

“Your father wishes for you to have plenty of time with other children your age,” the AI continues. “You’ve got to find another activity to replace gymnastics if you don’t wish to continue.”

“Okay, okay,” Morgan says. “Legos sound great.” She crosses her fingers in her pocket, out of sight. She’s not going to hang out with _children_ tonight. She has _much_ more important things to do with her evening.

JARVIS finally lets her on the elevator. The annoyance she had felt at the AI’s mother-hen tendencies is quickly replaced with nervousness. Her dad has been overly cautious with her and working from home since the incident at the charity event last week, but this morning the police told them they couldn’t find any connection between the Starks and the would-be gunman. So, her dad had gone back to work. Which means that he could have spoken to Peter Parker today.

Which means that she may or may not be in trouble now. So, she’s got to go and find out. Morgan’s stomach gives a nervous jolt as the elevator doors open onto one of the research floors. 

“Oh, hello there, Morgan,” someone greets her. It’s Quintin Beck, one of her father’s employees. Behind him stands Peter Parker. She narrows her eyes, looking back and forth between the two of them.

“It’s good to see your father back at work,” Beck continues.

Morgan just stares at him. Once, about a year ago, she had overheard him saying nasty things about her dad when she’d been ~~snooping~~ somewhere ~~she shouldn’t have been~~. She had immediately told her father what she had heard, but he had shrugged it off and told her that everyone was entitled to their opinion.

Well, if that’s true, then Morgan doesn’t feel a _bit_ bad for her opinion of Quintin Beck.

“He’s just down the hall,” the older man continues kindly and Morgan wants to kick him. She steps around him, never acknowledging anything the older man has said to her.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Beck persists warmly, undeterred by her brush-off.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Morgan snaps over her shoulder, unable to continue ignoring him. Before Beck can reply, she grabs Peter’s wrist and stomps away.

“You shouldn’t talk to him. He’s the worst,” Morgan snips when they reach the end of the hall.

“Mr. Beck?” Peter says, brows furrowed. “He’s always been really nice to me.”

Morgan stares at him like he’s grown a second head. “That doesn’t mean he’s a good person.” She huffs, frustrated. “Look, did you tell my dad?”

Peter narrows his eyes and jerks his wrist from her grip. “No,” he says after a moment. “But that doesn’t mea-”

“Good,” she says, cutting him off, relief flooding her system. Maybe he’s not a complete idiot. And since he hasn’t ratted her out, she can go through with her plan. She’s been working on it all week and can finally implement it.

“I need you to help me tonight,” she says.

“I’m not- I- _Morgan_ ,” Peter sputters, exasperated for some reason. “ _No_. Whatever it is, just no.”

She raises a single brow. “Do you want me to talk to _MJ_?” she asks lightly. That shuts him up.

She smiles at him sweetly. “Good. In that case, see you at six.”

“No, you won’t!” Peter calls after her as she walks off. “I- I have a date tonight! Morgan! _Morgan!_ Give that stuff back right this _instant_!”

She sends a text with one hand and lazily waves goodbye to him with the other. 

Her plan is going to work _wonderfully_.

-

Her plan is _ruined_.

“But why can’t _you_ take me, Happy?” she wails, near tears.

“I’ve got to stay here tonight kiddo, sorry,” Happy says. “Natasha and Clint can take you, though, alright?” he says placatingly, indicating to the security guards by the wall. One has vibrant red hair and an unreadable expression, and the other wears sunglasses and looks beyond bored to be there. They’re both wearing security uniforms and ID badges. She scowls at them both and decides that she hates them.

“Fine,” she says darkly.

Clint helps her put her bookbag in the car and Natasha drives. They attempt small talk with her on the drive, but Morgan is too busy trying to figure out a back-up plan before they reach the library. She knows Happy inside and out, but she doesn’t really know the guards that work for him… She pulls up their files on her tablet and combs through them, looking for a weakness but finding none useful to her tonight. Ugh. How is she supposed to give two ex-spies the shake? Morgan wonders if that’s why her dad’s okay with these two taking her out when usually he’s very paranoid.

They enter the library and it must be Morgan’s lucky day, because the answer to her problem is already here. There, in the kid’s section, is Clint Barton’s entire family.

“Daddy!” Three kids run up to a sheepish Clint Barton. He grins at them all. “What are you guys doing here?” he asks. He’s smiling at his children, but the question is directed at his wife. Morgan looks down at her tablet. Apparently, her name is Laura Barton. One of the kids wanders back over to his mother, reaching for her hand. Laura takes it, smiling gently at him.

Morgan scowls and looks back down at her tablet.

“Sorry,” Laura tells her husband. “Change of plans at the last minute. Nate wanted a new Pete the Cat Book.”

Morgan doesn’t know why she’s listening to this stupid conversation instead of slinking off now that this perfect distraction has been dropped in her lap. She let’s go of the hem of her panda print dress; she didn’t even know she’d been wringing the fabric with her hands.

Morgan is about to take a step back but when she looks up, she feels someone looking at her. It’s Natasha. But a moment later a tiny child launches herself at the redhead, taking her by surprise. Morgan uses that to her advantage and slowly sneaks off, lingering around the non-fiction section before booking it for the exit.

She makes it outside and can’t help but grin. Until she realizes that she’s outside in Midtown all by herself. And she doesn’t really ever… go anywhere by herself if she’s not in the Tower. Panic begins to pool in her gut. She bites at her bottom lip, the anxiety swirling in her stomach like a vortex.

Maybe she should just scrap this plan and figure out a new way to get to-

Morgan scowls at herself and shakes her head. She is _not_ a quitter. What is she _thinking_ right now? Besides… the café she’s headed for is just across the street and two shops down… it’s not far. She picked that place for a reason. It’s right there; she can even see it! Morgan glances across the busy street and spots the cheerful yellow sign of the coffee shop.

Squaring her shoulders, she crosses the street and speed walks down to the shop before she loses her nerve. She releases a breath she didn’t even know she’d been holding when she finally makes it to the outside of the café.

She looks through the front windows and grins. There, in the back corner, sit Peter and MJ. Just like she knew they’d be. Morgan walks inside and instantly heads for them.

Peter spots her before she reaches them. He looks surprised, confused, and then angry. He glares at her and she has to fight not to laugh.

He’s wearing a button up and she’s got on a purple dress. Peter doesn’t have a hair out of place and MJ clearly has on lipstick. Morgan might just be a kid, but even _she_ can tell that they like each other.

“Hi, Mr. Parker,” Morgan says sweetly. “I’m really sorry to bother you but I need your help.”

“Mr. Parker?” MJ parrots, eyebrow raised. She laughs at the title and gives Peter a teasing look. She’s obviously not afraid to speak her mind. Morgan thinks she might like her.

“You don’t have to call him Mr. Parker, kid,” MJ says. “What’s up?”

“I got lost,” Morgan explains, hoping she sounds as lost and pitiful as she’s attempting to. “Can you guys help?”

“Sure,” Peter finally speaks up. “I can call Mr. Stark-”

“No!” Morgan snaps. MJ’s eyes widen. Morgan clears her throat and tries again. “It’s just. I kinda… wandered off. And dad told me not to, so… If you call him…” she starts to fidget with the hem of her dress and bites her lip, looking down.

“I get it,” MJ says, nodding knowingly. “Dads can be a real drag. We’ll help. Where do you need to be?” Morgan bites back a smile. She _definitely_ likes MJ.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Peter says. “We should just call Mr. Sta-”

“You know what else isn’t a good idea?” Morgan asks pointedly, looking from Peter to MJ and then back again. Before she can say anything else, Peter speaks up again. “ _F-fine_. Fine, we’ll help,” he grumbles.

MJ looks between the two. “I’m gonna go pay,” she says. “You two… figure out whatever you need to figure out.” She stands up and heads for the register.

Peter tries to stop MJ but when he fails to catch her, he turns back to Morgan. “ _What_ are you doing here?” he hisses when he’s certain MJ is out of earshot.

“Since you didn’t turn me in, you get to help!” Morgan says, grinning. “Thanks, by the way.”

“I wasn’t _not_ turning you in!” Peter whisper-yells, getting flustered. “I was trying to give you time to _think_ after- after everybody was almost- you know, after what happened last week!”

Morgan wonders how long it’s going to take him to calm down. Quite a while, it would appear, since he just keeps impersonating a fish in distress.

“Well, _next_ time, don’t do that,” she says with a shrug. “Anyway, here’s the address.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Read chapter two first! There are two new sections from Stephen's POV marked in bold in chapter two. There is one new section marked in bold in chapter three. This chapter was previously posted as part of chapter two and has no new material.**
> 
> **Moving forward all other chapters will only have new material. I'm so sorry to edit like this but I think it makes the story flow better!**
> 
> **NB: 2/7/2020 I did some heavy editing and decided that this story would flow better if I broke up the POV within the chapters instead of switching with each chapter. As a result, I have gone back and added other character's POVs to previously existing chapters. I will mark new sections in bold so you can read them without having to comb through what you've already read. I apologize for doing this! But I really think it will work better this way. Thanks!!**

Morgan is extremely pleased with herself by the time they arrive at 177A Bleeker Street. There’s no way she was going to make the trip from Midtown Manhattan to Greenwich Village by herself so making sure Peter would be somewhere nearby tonight when she needed a chauffeur had been a great idea. Honestly, it had been beyond easy, too; someone should probably make it more difficult to hack messages...

She doesn’t understand why Peter doesn’t just confess his feelings to MJ. She agreed to meet for coffee almost as fast as Peter had when Morgan text her pretending to be Peter. Oh, well. If they want to dance around each other for ages, they can go right ahead. That’s not her problem. _Her_ problem is finding Doctor Stephen Strange for her dad.

“Thanks for bringing me here,” Morgan says, smiling genuinely as she thinks about how happy her daddy is going to be once she introduces the doctor to him.

Her smile falters when she sees who’s waiting on the sidewalk for her. A distraught Tony and livid Happy stand at the corner of Fenno Place and Bleeker Street, obviously expecting her.

Morgan instantly turns on Peter, fuming. “You _told them_?” she hisses, eyes flashing.

“You can’t just go around New Yo-”

“How _could_ you!?” she shouts. She’s beyond angry and hurt. _Now_ how is she supposed to talk to Stephen Strange and tell him all about her dad? How is she supposed to create another opportunity like this one? She’s going to have to wait ages to try again!

The anger manifests as tears but she refuses to let them fall. Crying is for babies and Morgan is _not_ a baby. This is just a minor setback in her plan. She can figure this out. She can still fix this. Morgan glares at the two of them and takes several steps back.

Peter steps forward and tries to reach for her, but MJ puts a hand to his shoulder to stop him. It’s a nice gesture, but it doesn’t matter. Morgan has a new idea now. She doesn’t need them anymore. She looks from Peter and MJ, to her dad and Happy, and finally to the door she’s trying to reach, a few yards behind her would-be captors. She considers all the variables for a moment and grins. She can make it if she runs. Fast. 

Morgan grabs the straps of her bookbag and sprints around Peter and heads straight for Tony and Happy. They weren’t expecting her to do that and they freeze for a moment, uncertain how to stand. Morgan was hoping they’d do that. She feints toward the street. The look of panic on her dad’s face is almost enough to make her feel guilty. Almost. Tony and Happy scramble to meet her near the street. But Morgan changes direction at the last second, finally running toward her real destination. They don’t have enough time to catch up to her, and Morgan’s reaching for the doorknob before their feet even touch the bottom step. The heavy wooden door opens before she even touches it.

“Morgan, don’t you _dare_ go inside!” her dad warns.

Naturally, Morgan dares.

The door immediately slams shut behind her, but she hardly notices. It’s late and the foyer, usually lit with natural lighting from the ornate sky light, is dim and quiet. But at the top of the stairs, barely visible under the soft glow of the lamps, someone beckons her to follow. Morgan is starting to wonder if this is such a good idea, but determination and curiosity won’t let her back down now.

“Hello?” she calls. “Mr.- I mean- Dr. Strange?”

Silence.

Morgan walks into the middle of the landing and looks around. The doctor’s home is like Art Deco meets Bauhaus meets the von Trapp family Villa, what with the doors upon doors nestled behind the wrap around iron railing. She walks through the foyer over the decorative wooden flooring covered in bold geometric patterns and passed the plush leather seating. Across the way, Morgan sees what looks to be the entrance to a vast and ancient library. She calls for the doctor again, but when no one answers she continues to wander around.

Once Morgan makes it to the top of the stairs, whoever welcomed her inside is still nowhere to be seen. The third door on Morgan’s left opens and the small voice in her head that will sometimes ask her if she’s _sure_ she wants to keep doing what she’s doing goes eerily silent.

Morgan’s immediately struck with a feeling of curiosity, but when she pushes the door open it’s just a simple bedroom. She glances around but doesn’t see anything of interest. She turns around, but the door is shut. Morgan frowns and stares at it; she never shut the door.

Suddenly a bit on edge, Morgan tries the handle. The door swings open with little difficulty, but instead of walking out of the third door she’s just walked out of the fourth door from the stairs. On the opposite side of the manor.

…What’s going on? How did that happen?

Morgan turns in a circle, taking in her surroundings. Something flutters out of the corner of her eye and she follows it toward another staircase, this one dimmer and much narrower than the split staircase in the entrance. She takes her phone out and uses the flashlight.

Masks, lining the walls of the slender staircase, seem to stare at her. Morgan gulps and keeps her eyes straight ahead, trying to catch up with the silent figure she’s following.

The stairs lead her to an ornately decorated study. Books and scrolls litter the floor. In the middle of the room, barely visible beneath the mess, a symbol is inlaid in the hardwood floor. On one side of the room sits a large chest and working fireplace. Directly across sits a large desk, just as messy as the rest of the room. She twirls around, taking pictures of everything she sees. Including the books and papers in disarray on the floor.

A large circular window looms over her, letting in what’s left of the light of the evening. The feeling that she’s being watched returns. The hair at her neck stands on end and she gasps, startled when she feels a sudden breeze.

She turns around but no window is open, and no one is there.

“What do you think you’re doing?” a deep voice demands from behind her. Morgan shrieks and jumps, turning around on the spot. Her fear quickly morphs into elation when she sees who it is.

“Doctor Strange!” Morgan exclaims. “I’m Morgan Sta-”

“You shouldn’t be here,” Stephen snaps, cutting her off. He glances around the room anxiously, and when Morgan follows his gaze, she sees that the room is spotless. But… hadn’t it been a mess, only a moment ago?

“What are you doing here?” he demands, bringing her attention back to him. He’s wearing a simple black suit and his hair seems a bit unkempt. For the first time, she notices the slight tremor in his hands.

“How did you get in here?” the doctor demands. The tremor seems to worsen when he’s upset.

At his harsh tone, Morgan takes a step back and looks away from him for a moment. “I- The door was open,” she mumbles, examining her pink combat boots. “And someone told me to come up here…”

Stephen raises a brow in disbelief. “Someone told you to…?” He cuts his gaze across the room and glares at a red cloak hanging in its display stand for some reason. He closes his eyes and sighs. “First his employee breaks in, then his daughter. Anyone else?” he mutters to himself.

“Um, Doctor Strange?” Morgan tries again.

Stephen snaps his gaze back to her, still glaring. Morgan almost yelps at his intense stare and wonders why her dad’s perfect match has to be someone so darn _intimidating_. An old memory of her mom once scaring off the paparazzi pops into her mind and she blinks and shakes her head, willing the thought to go away. She needs her heart to stop aching so she can focus.

Stephen gives her a funny look. “You okay, kid?”

Morgan blinks and looks back up at him. “Thank you for saving my daddy,” she says suddenly, voice quiet and small. It’s not what she had planned on saying. But she means it.

Stephen’s face goes even paler than it had the night of the charity ball. “What,” he sucks in a breath and tries again. “What do you mean?”

“The gunman at the ball,” Morgan says.

Stephen raises both brows this time. “I’m sorry, they _told_ you about that?” he asks incredulously, before seeming to remember himself and his stoic/grumpy expression.

“No, I did my research,” Morgan says smugly.

“That’s great. You’re a real Harriet the Spy,” he replies absentmindedly, stepping toward her. Morgan doesn’t get the references but before she can say so, he’s got a hand on her shoulder, turning her around toward the front door in the foyer.

But-

But hadn’t they just been upstairs in his study?

She pulls herself out of his grasp before he can usher her any closer to the front door and kick her out. “Wait!” she practically bellows. “Wait, I need to talk to you!”

“I _really_ don’t have time for this, kid,” Stephen says, exasperated. “Now get out before I call the cops!”

Desperation quickly turning into anger, Morgan clenches her fists, trying not to lose her temper. He jerks a thumb toward the front door. She narrows her eyes.

“I’m not leaving until you answer a few questions,” she says, lifting her chin. “And- and if you call the cops, I’ll... I’ll tell them you kidnapped me!”

Stephen rolls his eyes. “Oh, please. _You_ broke in.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “Likely story. I’m the daughter of a _very_ important man.”

“You don’t even know the half of it,” Stephen mutters. “Look, do you try to blackmail everyone you meet, Miss Stark?”

Morgan frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Well, didn’t you blackmail Peter Parker? So he’d bring you here tonight?”

The pointed question pierces her to her very core. Morgan hangs her head, face red from embarrassment. “I just- I just want my dad to be happy again,” Morgan says, lower lip trembling.

“What are you talking about, sweetheart?” her dad says, pulling away from her to look in her eyes. Morgan jolts, disoriented. Where did the study go? Where’s the foyer? She was just inside a second ago.

Wasn’t she?


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: More backstories are hinted at in this chapter and will be addressed in the story later on.

Since Morgan has an extra-curricular this evening, Tony is working late with a few of his engineers. Around 6:10, he gets a phone call from Natasha. “Everything alright?” he asks, excusing himself from his conversation with the others.

“Morgan left the library,” she says, voice calm despite the fact that she’s just admitted to losing his flesh and blood. The very thing she’s being paid to protect.

“Jesus,” he whispers, heart dropping into his stomach. It’s only been a week since they were almost shot. Can this kid stay out of trouble for one _second_? Without a word to the others in the lab, Tony’s rushing toward the elevator and down to his car. “How did she get away from _both_ of you?” he demands, getting in his Audi.

“Don’t worry, I found her,” Natasha replies.

Tony leans back in the leather seat and closes his eyes for a moment, willing his poor heart to slow down. “Next time-” he stops, unable to speak through the rushing adrenaline. “Next time, how about _lead_ with that.” He tries to steady his hand enough to punch in directions on his dashboard. He hits the wrong prompt, so he gives up and has JARVIS do it.

“She’s at Blue Bottle Coffee,” Natasha continues as if her employer hasn’t just snapped at her for losing his _daughter_. “Chatting with…” there’s a pause. She must be accessing his satellite network to find someone’s identity. “Peter Benjamin Parker?” she says, forming the name like a question.

“Pete? My Pete?” Tony asks, instantly relaxing. He chuckles a bit, then sighs. “Her crush is really getting out of hand.” Ever since Happy took Morgan to the Parkers last year, she hasn’t been able to shut up about him and his damn super slime. Tony can’t bring himself to be annoyed by it though; he has a soft spot for anything that brings Morgan joy. Even if that means having a permanent bald patch the size of a quarter just behind his left ear, thanks to a freak slime accident.

“Want me to get her?” she asks lightly.

Tony snorts. “No, I’m on my way. Maybe she’ll stop sneaking onto restricted floors to talk to him if I let her have this.”

He ends the call and not a second later, his cell rings again. It’s Peter Parker.

“Hey, Pete,” he says. “Sorry about Morgan. I’m on my way.”

“Oh, uh, it’s no problem, Mr. Stark,” Peter says quietly. Tony wonders why he’s whispering but doesn’t say anything. Pete’s brilliant, but a bit odd sometimes. “She wanted us to take her somewhere. MJ took her to the bathroom and then I promised I’d take her.” A pause. “She was very. Um. Upset.”

Tony sighs again. This precocious little creature he’s raising needs to be reigned in. She’s almost as big of a brat as _he_ is at this point. ‘Upset’ is probably code for “your eight year old bullied me into doing her bidding.” Poor Peter.

“Text me the address,” Tony says. It’ll be easier on Pete if he just has him play along with Morgan’s scheme. He’s not cut out to be her handler. As for Morgan… Tony will deal with that entitled attitude of hers later.

Peter sends him the address. Tony almost runs a red light when he reads it.

177A Bleeker Street. That’s the address of the man who apprehended the shooter. Tony isn’t supposed to know that but then the NYC police department have a laughable security system. He should have known Morgan would have done her own snooping; sometimes Tony wonders if the two of them aren’t a little _too_ similar. This apple doesn’t seem to have fallen very far from the “Starks Do What They Want” tree, at any rate.

Not for the first time, Tony wonders how the hell he’s supposed to do this without Pep.

-

Morgan sits in the backseat of her father’s car, fuming. She’s angry Peter told on her, angry that her plan failed, and even more angry that he father got to her before she even had a chance to go inside and meet Doctor Stephen Strange for herself.

“I know you’re mad at me, but you can’t just run off like that, Morgan,” Tony says, looking at her through the rearview mirror. Morgan pointedly looks away, pretending not to hear him.

“Do you want to get burgers with Happy?” he tries again. “He was pretty worried, too.”

“No,” she mumbles, crossing her arms and scooting down in her seat, still looking out the window. They spend the rest of the ride home in silence and when they get up to the penthouse level of Stark Tower, Morgan stomps to her room and slams the door.

By now most of her anger has dissipated. She should have known Peter would tell her dad where she was. And she can’t blame her dad for being worried. Still… It would have been amazing to get to talk to the doctor. Thank him, maybe gush about her super awesome dad, for a bit…

Sighing, she flops down on her bed and pulls out her phone. Her camera is still open, and she taps open the last photo that was taken.

It’s of a dark, hardwood floor with paperwork scattered across it. Frowning, she goes to the next picture. And the next, and the next. It’s more of the same. She keeps scrolling until she gets to a photo of an ornate desk, a fireplace, and then one of a cloak that looks like it belongs in a museum.

As if a window is being opened to allow light into a darkened room, Morgan remembers. She _has_ spoken to the doctor. How could she have forgotten?

Morgan studies each photo carefully, zooming in as much as possible to read all that she can. She’s trembling by the time she finishes going through the photographs.

Someone… Someone is trying to hurt her dad.

-

Tony glances at the live security feed outside Morgan’s door and on her balcony one more time before deciding to call it a night. It’s late and tomorrow marks the start of the weekend. He’s free all day Saturday; he’s got to be energetic and alert for Morgan. But all he seems to be able to do is toss and turn, playing and replaying thoughts in his mind.

He sits up in bed, scrubbing his face. What the hell is he going to do about her running off like that? When there are murderers and bomb threats and plane crashes and mass shootings and _faulty car breaks_ \- --

He takes a deep breath, catching the beginning of the spiral before it takes him away with it deeper still. Morgan is fine. She’s a willful, fearless, brilliant terror, and she is _fine_. Lying down in her bed, sleeping soundly. Something he should try to do before the lack of sleep makes it easier for the anxiety to take over.

There’s no point in denying it, though. He can’t fall asleep right now.

Tony gets up, grabs the tablet sitting on his nightstand, and pads across his bedroom toward a window, pulling up Stephen Strange’s file for the hundredth time.

He understands Morgan’s curiosity about the doctor. Tony was beyond curious about him when the police told him what happened- a neurosurgeon single-handedly taking down a gunman loaded up with firearms? It seems like something out of a comic book.

And Tony calls bullshit. The police claim to have done a complete investigation, but something isn’t right here. For such an acclaimed surgeon, his biography seems awfully sparse. Did he even exist prior to the past few years? His childhood is practically nonexistent. Tony can’t find a previous address, alma mater, ex-wife, or even a speeding ticket.

Tony doesn’t trust anyone to begin with, but he’s _certainly_ not about to allow his daughter to meet a man who feels the need to keep so much hidden from the public eye. Tony is used to being able to turn over every stone he comes across. Especially with his particular skill set.

Stephen is an unreadable book and that makes Tony wary.

On a good day, he likes to think Doctor Strange was just a good Samaritan in the right place at the right time, but most days Tony isn’t that silly. For crying out loud- the man apparently has some undisclosed nerve damage disorder that affects his hands. How the hell did he manage to hang on to the gunman long enough to unarm him and get him to the police? Something doesn’t add up. And Tony is going to figure out what it is.

If Strange just turns out to be a really good guy with exceptional hand strength despite his _career ending nerve disorder_ , then amazing. If not, well, Tony called it. Like usual. At this point, after everything Tony has been through and seen (Thanks Obadiah, et al.) he wouldn’t be a bit surprised if Strange and the gunmen are working together.

Tony sighs and leans his head against the cool glass of the balcony door. He’s not going to get any sleep tonight.

How the hell is he supposed to teach Morgan to stay out of trouble when trouble just seems to haunt them?

-

Pepper used to make blueberry pancakes whenever they could have a lazy weekend morning together. Tony is an abysmal cook, but continuing the tradition makes Morgan happy so he gives it his all, flipping a half-burnt cake onto a plate.

He can hear her shuffling around in her room, getting herself ready for the day. He’s hoping the blueberry pancakes will soften the blow of the conversation that’s about to take place. Because if Tony knows Morgan Stark, and he does, then he knows she’s about to demand to meet Strange. And Tony is going to have to tell her that can’t happen.

He sighs and chuckles mirthlessly. Who is he kidding? Pancakes aren’t going to fix this. She’s just going to get angry and storm off again.

When she opens her bedroom door and comes out into the common area, Tony holds his breath for a moment. But Morgan doesn’t have that determined, prepared to fight look about her this morning like he’d been expecting.

She pours herself a glass of orange juice and sits down on one of the barstools at the island. Tony openly stares at her. She’s wearing a blue and pink cat print dress, lime green sweater, and those damn unicorn headphones around her neck.

He places a plate of sub-par pancakes in front of her and she politely thanks him, taking a huge bite. She chews and swallows and takes another bite, only pausing to take a gulp of orange juice.

“Want to go for a walk this morning, Dad?” Morgan asks agreeably once she’s finished eating.

“Sure, sweetheart,” he replies.

Morgan rushes off to grab her coat and Tony narrows his eyes as soon as her back is turned. She’s up to something. She was _just_ up to something yesterday! Why is she _already_ up to something? She’s going to be the death of him.

-

“Morgan… There’s no nice way about it so I’m just going to get to the point.”

“…Okay? What’s up, Dad?”

“If you run off again like you did yesterday, I’m going to give away your entire slime collection.”

“You wouldn’t _dare_.”

“Watch me, kid.”

“Uncle Rhodey would just give me more. So would Happy.”

“Morgan. I’m being serious; something could have happened to you. Don’t do your old man like that.”

“Oh, like your goonies weren’t tailing me. I was fine, Dad! I just wanted to-”

“Young lady, my _goonies_ are tailing you to keep you safe. The least you could do is let them do their job.”

“…”

“Morgan?”

“…Yes, sir.”

“And what’s your deal with Pete? How on earth did you convince him to help you? …What’s so funny?”

“Nothing, Dad. It’s noth-”

“Morgan? What is it? What are you looking at?”

“…”

“Morgan? Morg- Morgan! Get back here! _Morgan!_ ”

-

Morgan is barely paying attention to the conversation with her dad. Stephen Strange is nearby; the program she swiped from her dad alerted her this morning that he’s in Midtown. She glances around Bryant Park, trying to catch a glimpse of him.

And there he is, walking with a few bags in his arms. Morgan immediately takes off, running across the grass towards him, pushing through the others at the park. She runs for a good five seconds before someone grabs her bookbag, swinging her around to snatch her around the middle.

Morgan tries to scream but she coughs on the cold air. Still, she fights back, kicking and scratching and stomping on whatever she can. She’s released and falls to the ground. The force causes her to roll, and when she finally stops moving, she turns around, trying to catch a glimpse of her attacker through her coughing.

Stephen has her attacker on the ground, holding his arms behind his back as he digs his knee into the assailant’s spine.

Still shouting for Morgan, Tony finally catches up to them. And promptly punches Doctor Strange across the jaw.

“What the hell was _that_ for?” Stephen shouts, holding his chin with one hand.

“What the hell are you doing?” Tony demands loudly, voice shaking from rage and exertion.

Stephen, eyes wild, looks down to the body he’s crushing into the freezing ground and then back up to Tony. “Saving your daughter, douchebag!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: Hey look, they met! Haha. Haaaaaa.
> 
> I also find long chapters hella intimidating so I will be sticking to 2k-ish word chapters and post about twice a week. :)


	6. Chapter 6

For someone who claims to want no part in Stephen’s “side project”, Wong is surprisingly helpful. This morning he leaves a note on the fridge with a name and an address. Adrian Toomes will be in Midtown this morning. Today he just wants to follow him for a bit and see if it’s worth the risk to put a magical tracker on him because that would make his life infinitely easier. In the past three years, the only collateral damage has been Pepper Potts. Tony Stark is still alive, because Stephen has _personally_ neutralized every threat before they ever get off the ground. Finding, studying, and terminating (if necessary) those who would do Tony Stark’s soul harm in this life-cycle seem innumerable and it only adds to his fatigue. 

So, when Toomes struggles under Stephen after he pins him to the ground, Stephen digs his knee into his back harder than is strictly necessary. His entire arm quivers for a moment and he frowns, tightening his magical hold on Toomes just in case. He can’t be getting worse, can he? Maybe he’s just overexerted himself. 

Grateful as he is to work his way through each possible threat, a part of him hopes that Wong won’t have another lead for him so soon next time so he can rest. But, who is he kidding. Hoping Wong won’t find someone in the middle of plotting revenge against the billionaire inventor is like hoping water might not be wet. Pointless and stupid. 

Still. It would be nice. Because apparently not only does he have to deal with threats to Stark’s life, he’s got to handle the miniature Stark as well. _Again_. How the hell had she been able to see around his suggestions to forget about last night? 

A sudden burst of pain in his left jaw brings him back from his thoughts. Tony Stark stands- well, staggers, really- before him, eyes blazing and nostrils flared like a wild animal. His hair, cut close on the sides and longer on top, is heavily disheveled from running on a windy day. Why the _fuck_ is he noticing Stark’s hair cut right now. Stephen nearly shakes his head to clear his thoughts. 

“What the _hell_ was that for?” Stephen shouts. If some of the anger and force behind the question is more about himself and less about the punch, well, no one else needs to know. 

“What the hell are you doing?” Tony demands, nearly shouting he’s so enraged. 

Stephen thinks _that’s_ pretty effing obvious. His anger at the situation only adds to his sarcastic and acerbic tone. “Saving your daughter, douchebag!” It seems like it’s been nothing but a shit show since he landed on Morgan’s radar last week. And now he’s getting punched and yelled at by someone he keeps saving. This is fun. 

“Why is it you always seem to be _exactly_ where you need to be to help me, huh?” Tony asks, clutching his shaken child to his side and slightly behind, shielding her. She tries to say something, but Tony shushes her, patting her arm. 

Stephen can’t answer his question without giving himself away, which only angers him more. “Lucky for you, isn’t it?” he retorts. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tony challenges. He straightens to his full height, which is impressive when the only other person standing right now is an eight-year-old. “Where’s a fucking cop when you need one?” he mutters, looking around. 

“I don’t know, why don’t you find one?” Stephen says, exasperated. 

“Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Tony snips suspiciously, shushing Morgan again. 

Stephen closes his eyes, trying to ignore the ungrateful asshole in front of him and the deep ache in his hands. He’s sick of magically restraining Toomes and pretending to make it look like he’s using his actual strength; it’s energetically exhausting. So, yes, he very much _would_ like that, actually. 

“What’s the problem, guys?” An officer has finally arrived. 

Both Stephen and Tony attempt to speak over each other and explain but that only leads to more bickering. When Stephen makes another snide remark and Tony almost throws another punch, the officer is forced to escort everyone down to Midtown South Precinct. 

\- 

Thanks to both men’s tempers, it ends up taking a lot longer to sort out the morning's scuffle than it probably should have. Tony and Stephen spend so much time talking over each other that the officer isn’t sure he’s ever going to find out what really happened. Morgan is the only one of any help as Toomes refuses to talk. 

Her dad must stay a bit longer, but he doesn’t want Morgan to be stuck in a police station all morning, so he has Happy come get her. Tony makes her promise to wait for Happy next to a friendly looking officer’s desk. Morgan promises, fingers crossed under the book bag perched on her lap. 

The officer smiles gently at her. “Do you need anything while you wait for your dad, sweetie?” 

Morgan feigns thinking for a moment. “A cookie would be great,” she says cheerfully. 

“I think we can do that! Want to come with me to find one?” 

Morgan looks down, twiddling with the key chains on her bag. “I want to… I want to wait here for my dad if that’s okay…” 

“Sure, of course, honey,” the officer says kindly. “I’ll be right back.” 

Morgan watches her walk off and grins. As soon as the officer turns a corner, Morgan is out of her chair, sprinting for the exit. It’s easy enough to walk closely with a couple leaving the building, pretending to be their child before distancing herself from them as soon as they pass the subway. Morgan weaves around the couple and doesn’t stop running until she gets to the intersection at 35th and 8th. Across from her sits a Starbucks. Nervousness at being in a part of town she’s not familiar with licks at her insides but she tries to ignore it. 

Morgan makes it across the street and inside the café. It’s crowded which will make it easier for her to hide. She sits at a table in the back and pulls a black baseball cap out of her book bag, placing it on her head; she knew packing this would come in handy one day. She pulls her phone out and dials a number. 

They pick up on the second ring. “Hello?” a groggy voice answers. 

“Wake up, Parker,” Morgan demands. “I need your help again.” 

“Wha..? Morgan, is that you?” 

“Well it’s not your _girlfriend_ ,” Morgan says, voice sour. “Come on. I need you on your A game.” 

“Mr. Stark said I don’t have to listen to you,” Peter replies, sharp and annoyed. “I’m going to hang up now.” Fearful he’s actually about to hang up on her, Morgan begs him not to. The emotion in her voice gives her away and Peter pauses for a moment. 

“Morgan… What’s going on?” he asks softly. The morning’s events are finally starting to sink in and the kindness in Peter’s voice despite how mean she always is to him does her in. Her plan is falling apart _again_ and she’s pretty sure it’s all her fault. “If you- If you come get me,” she says, voice small, “I’ll tell you and- and I promise to stop blackmailing you,” she offers, sniffling. 

Peter tells her that’s technically still blackmail, but he says he’s on his way. 

“Don't you live in _Queens?_ ” she grumbles through tears. “Hurry _up_.” 

" _No_ , I moved, but-"

Morgan hangs up.

\- 

It takes Peter over an hour to get to Morgan since he was coming from his aunt's place. By the time he does, she’s already ordered three vanilla frappuccinos and sits looking like a disgruntled little league player with her black baseball cap, something he’s never seen her wear before. “My tummy hurts,” she groans. Peter wonders what it’s like to grow up spending money like that ( _three_ Starbucks frappes?) and doesn’t quite feel sorry for her self-created problem. 

He rolls his eyes and sits down across from her. “Why are you by yourself? Where’s your dad?” he asks. ‘Why me?’ was next, but he figures there’s no point in asking her that. 

Morgan gets a funny look on her face. At first, he’s not sure what’s going on, but when he is it’s already too late. Morgan Stark is fighting back tears. The sight of the child blinking rapidly is enough to put a lump in his throat. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Peter says, hoping he sounds soothing. “What’s going on?” 

Morgan’s lower lip quivers and Peter’s afraid she might start to cry in earnest, but instead she begins to ramble, getting everything off her chest. “I just wanted them to meet so _badly_ and after last night I thought everything was _ruined_ and then I saw the pictures I took and I’m pretty sure someone is trying to hurt my dad and Doctor Strange is trying to find whoever it is and stop them-” 

Peter tries to interject but Morgan keeps going, “-and I was so _scared_ and this morning I saw he was actually in our part of the city and I thought it was fate you know but it turns out he was probably just here trying to stop someone from hurting my dad because we were going for a walk and someone grabbed me-” 

“ _What_ ? Morgan, what- Are you okay? Someone _grabbed_ -” 

“-and Doctor Strange tried to help me but my dad is already suspicious of him because he’s suspicious of _everyone_ and he _punched_ him in the face and they’re never going to like each other at this rate!” By the time she finishes she’s panting and red faced, eyes wide and cheeks tear stained. 

Peter is still stuck on the part where she mentioned someone trying to kidnap her. “Morgan. Who grabbed you?” 

“His name is,” she hiccups, “A-Adrian Toomes.” Morgan shoves her phone across the table. “He used to work for my dad, but it- it didn’t end well.” 

Peter picks up her phone and scrolls through a few photos. He reads what he can but isn’t certain what he’s looking at. He sees a few partial names; Toomes and Hammer seem to be the only ones he can make out. There’re several hand-written notes and crossed out addresses, a few reports that probably aren’t meant for the public eye, and parchment with writing in a language he’s never seen. There’s also a clipping from a newspaper about Pepper Potts’ death... A note has been attached to it; Peter can barely make out the writing but he’s certain it’s a name. The first name might start with a K or an R, but the last name definitely starts with an A. 

He looks across at Morgan and her intense expression, and then back to her phone. “I don’t understand,” Peter says honestly. “What am I looking at?” 

“I found this stuff in Doctor Strange’s house,” she says. “Last night.” 

Peter frowns. “But... you didn’t go inside last night,” he contradicts. “Mr. Stark stopped you at the door.” 

Morgan looks at him like he’s being difficult on purpose. “No, he didn’t. Otherwise, how would I have these?” 

Peter furrows his brows. Maybe he isn’t remembering correctly? He tries to think back to last night, but now his memory feels uncertain. Like either version of events could be true. Peter shrugs and chalks it up to exhaustion and the stress of being jerked around by a child for the past week or so. 

He looks back down at the photos. “We should tell the police. You guys could be in danger.” 

“No way! My dad thinks cops are useless and besides, Doctor Strange is taking care of it. He’s already caught two people.” 

“I thought- They said last week was random,” Peter says, growing a little anxious. 

Morgan raises a brow at him and takes her phone back. “Cops are useless, remember?” Focused attention has replaced her tears. 

Peter decides to let the insult slide. “Well, why do you have so much faith in Doctor Strange?” 

She scoffs. “Because he’s perfect for my dad, so obviously he’ll do the best job.” 

Peter sighs. “Look, Morgan,” he begins, trying to sound as kind as possible. “I think it’s great that you’re so interested in math and everything, I really do, but this- You can’t base real life on your experiments. This is serious-” 

“You and MJ got ninety two percent,” Morgan says, voice challenging. She puts her phone in her bag and frowns at him. __That_ _ bit of information halts any further protest from the brunet and they’re both quiet for a moment. Peter blinks at her owlishly. 

“...Ninety two percent?” he asks quietly after a pause. 

“Mhmm,” Morgan replies, hugging her book bag to her chest, looking down. 

Peter can’t help the surge of excitement and affection he feels in that moment, before remembering himself and their current situation. “That doesn’t matter right now,” he says, trying to sound stern. “This is- This is life or death, Morgan! We have to tell the police.” 

She looks back up, expression dark. “I never should have called you.” She stands up and hurries for the exit. Peter calls after her, but she ignores him. He gets outside and looks left and right, trying to see where Morgan’s gone. He finally spots her trying to cross the busy street, but she’s so upset she’s hardly paying attention to her surroundings. 

“Morgan!” Peter shouts. A small truck rounds a corner at the same time she steps into the road. His heart is in his stomach. There’s no way he can get to her in time and she’s not stopping. 

\- 

“I am so sorry about all of this, Dr. Strange,” the police sergeant says, giving him a coffee. Tony is used to preferential treatment, but usually he’s on the receiving end of it. Apparently Strange performed surgery on this guy’s father three years ago, saving his life. Tony sits back in his chair and rolls his eyes. So, he’s good at cutting people open and closing them back up. Big deal. 

“Are we done here?” Tony asks, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’d like to get back to my daughter and the _actual_ issue at hand, if you don’t mind.” 

The sergeant levels Tony with a measured expression. Tony isn’t the least bit phased. 

“I completely understand Mr. Stark, but that’s up to Dr. Strange,” the sergeant replies. “If you wanted to press charges-” 

“I’m sorry?” Tony interjects in disbelief, blinking rapidly. 

Stephen speaks up almost immediately, voice strangely earnest, “I don’t want to press charges-” 

“I thought he was attacking my daughter!” Tony nearly bellows, cutting him off. He’s growing more impatient and anxious by the second. So, he slugged the wrong guy. Big deal. Why can’t this suck up go talk to the actual bad-guy and get some _fucking_ answers? Two incidents in one month. Jesus. He really needs to get the ball rolling on a few of his current projects if this is going to be the new normal for him and Morgan. 

“I was _saving_ her from the actual attacker. Like I keep explaining,” Stephen interjects evenly. “Or are you deaf as well as blind, Stark?” 

Tony pointedly ignores Strange. _Maybe_ he isn’t in cahoots with anyone trying to hurt them, but he _cannot_ stand him; the doctor is so rude and full of himself. 

“I’m not going to press charges,” Strange says again. Tony looks at him, a little shocked, but the doctor doesn’t spare him a glance. Tony begrudgingly nods at the doctor in thanks. “Let me know when you find out anything from Toomes,” he says to the officer, leaving. Between almost getting shot last week and Morgan almost getting kidnapped this morning, Tony isn’t sure how much longer he can keep it together in public. He hasn’t felt this angry and out of control since- - Well. 

Tony steps out into the office space of the precinct and scans the room for Morgan since Happy hasn’t gotten here yet. But she’s nowhere to be seen. He approaches the officer he’d left her with. “Where’s Morgan?” 

She stutters an excuse, but Tony doesn’t have time for that. He rushes for the exit and looks up and down 35th Street. The streets are so crowded now and there’s a subway entrance right by them. She could be anywhere. 

Tony isn’t certain he can make it through the rest of the day at this point, but he can fall apart later. After he finds his daughter and throttles her for running off again. God, his heart can’t take this stress. 

“Morgan!” he calls, heading the way they came, hoping that’s the way she went. 

“JARVIS,” Tony says, activating his sunglasses. “Send me a security drone. Scan for Morgan.” 

“Sir, may I remind you that the prototypes aren’t-” 

“I’ll call Beck today,” he reminds the AI, wondering, not for the first time, if he’s given JARVIS too much personality. “ _Send_ one.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Stark,” someone says behind him. Tony nearly jumps at being startled. It’s Strange; he never heard him approach. 

Tony is about to snap at him when Stephen says almost kindly, “The security cameras outside showed her heading toward 8th.” The opposite direction Tony is currently headed in. “Thanks,” he says stiffly and turns around. There’s a Starbucks across the street, maybe she went there? 

He walks quickly, not caring if he bumps into other pedestrians. 

“Where’s my visual, Jarvs?” Tony sees Strange out of the corner of her eye, apparently following him. “I think I can handle it from here,” he tells him, annoyed. 

Stephen Strange has the audacity to snort. “Sure,” he says. 

“And what’s _that_ supposed to me-” The words die on his lips when he sees Morgan; she’s about to cross the street. A truck is heading toward her, but she doesn’t seem to notice in her haste. 

“Morgan, _no_ !!” Tony screams. “ _Morgan_ , Morgan- stop! _Stop_ ! _”_

She doesn’t stop. She can’t hear him, and he screams as the truck hits her- 

And time is meaningless. Eternity and an infinitesimal second seem one and the same. Tony stands on the precipice of a new tragedy, unable to comprehend, unable to allow his mind to process what has just- 

“Daddy?” Morgan says, blinking up at him. She’s shaking and confused and perfectly fine. He collapses before her, holding her to his chest, feeling her heartbeat frantically tell him again and again that she’s okay. She’s _okay_. 

It doesn’t occur to Tony until well into the evening to wonder just how she managed to cross the street safely. 

“Hey, J,” he calls from his workbench. “Pull up this morning’s recording. From the drone.” 

“Certainly, sir.” A visual of the morning’s events display before him. He watches, transfixed, and doesn’t even notice when the tool slips from his hand. 

“How the _fuck_ did he do that?” he says, voice awed.


	7. Chapter 7

Peter isn’t sure how long he stands just outside Starbucks, staring, wide-eyed, at what he’s just witnessed. Or at what he thinks he’s just witnessed, anyway. Even though what he’s just seen shouldn’t, can’t, be possible… Can it? 

He looks from left to right, but life around him just goes on like normal. Like a man didn’t just appear out of nowhere, save a child’s life, and disappear again. He frowns, continuing to look around. His gaze eventual lands on the sky above and he sees a piece of it moving, rising and falling, stalling in areas where it seems out of place, like trying to fit a piece of a jigsaw puzzle where it doesn’t belong.

Peter looks back down to the sidewalk across the street; Mr. Stark is holding onto Morgan for all he’s worth. 

That must be one of the Stark Transparency Drone prototypes hovering above them, even though the transparent part doesn’t seem to be working very well. Hopefully it records better than it hides; he’s got to know what just happened. How had Dr. Strange been able to do that? He knows there’s no such thing but… it almost seemed like… magic.

Whatever it is, could Morgan maybe be onto something? That’s apparently the third time he’s saved either her or Mr. Stark… Dr. Strange is clearly skilled enough to protect them. But that doesn’t answer why he is, though. Still, who goes out of their way to save someone if their real plan is actually nefarious? Unless Strange’s real plan is to lure Mr. Stark into a false sense of security by constantly saving him so he can gain his trust and then stab him in the back? 

An icicle of anxiety pierces his heart at the thought but Peter quickly shakes off that thought. Strange didn’t try to get in Mr. Stark’s good graces after the incident last week, and he certainly didn’t try today, if Morgan’s story had any truth to it; it sounded like all they did was fight.

So he doubts Dr. Strange is up to no good. But what is he up to?

Maybe… Maybe Morgan is on to something. Maybe he should have heard her out, instead of telling her to back off and tell the police. Not that he regrets trying to help keep her safe (she has to return to tech she stole!) but he can’t believe he forgot what it felt like to be a kid and never ever be taken seriously.

After all, she did say that Mr. Stark and Dr. Strange were ninety percent compatible. And look at how dutifully (and how often) Dr. Strange is helping him behind the scenes!

And Peter and MJ are the best of friends and she says they’re two percentages more compatible than they are…

A feeling of shame and regret twists in his stomach when he thinks about how he’d dismissed her, causing her to run off and almost get hurt. Or worse. 

Thank goodness Dr. Strange was able to save her. Hopefully the STD was able to capture how he managed to do it. Peter winces, making a mental note to ask Mr. Stark if that’s really the name they’re going to go with.

His cell rings; it’s MJ. His heart skips a beat and he answers it as quickly as he can.

“Where are you, Peter?” she asks. “Ned and I are ready, dude.”

Crap. Peter completely forgot they were helping him with his vlog today. And it had been his idea, too. He books it for the nearest bus stop.

-

Stephen sighs as he melts into his desk chair. It’s hardly comfortable but that barely matters. He just needs some privacy, some peace and quiet for a moment after the shit show that was this morning.

So much for staying off of Stark’s radar. He’s been noticed on more than one occasion now- enough times to make Stark suspicious of him, even. He’s going to have to flesh out his sparse paper trail on this earth to avoid any future issues… He’s certain the sharp man will look into him, if he hasn’t already. A lack of any sort of history is only going to make Stark that much more suspicious.

And that’s something Stephen can’t afford. 

No one bats an eye over a bit of memory adjustment, but completely erasing or replacing a human’s memories is strictly forbidden and can result in losing your post. Or worse. And Stephen isn’t sure how much more memory editing he can do on the Stark’s before it becomes a problem. So, this has to stop now.

What if his fuck ups have already drawn the attention of whoever is trying to do Stark in? He can’t afford any more mistakes. Tony- This soul is too important. He can check on Stark via astral projection if he really has to, but Stephen vows to keep his distance from Tony from now on.

Stephen ignores the hollow pang that thought brings to his heart. He should focus on his actual job for a while before anyone from the Council begin to question him. 

-

Morgan sighs, flopping down on her bed. 

“J, what’s Dad doing?” she asks, staring listlessly at the plastic stars and planets on her ceiling.

“Sir is in his workshop currently. Did you need something, young miss?”

“No, just wondering.” She rolls onto her stomach, grabbing her phone as she does. After this morning’s adventure, Morgan had practically gotten her ear chewed off for running away… again. Her dad has never yelled at her like that before; she must have really terrified him.

She sniffles a little, feelings still tender from the verbal lashing. Stupid Peter. If he had listened to her, then at least getting yelled at would have been worth it. And she doesn’t even know why her dad yelled at her as much as he did; she was never in any danger today. He was so worried about her crossing the street but she was fine. She made it across without a scratch, didn’t she?

Today was a bust. Just like yesterday. Now is she going to get her dad and Dr. Strange together!?

Morgan scowls, playing a game on her phone, trying to distract herself from that infuriating question for a moment. A notification pops up; one of her favorite YouTubers has uploaded another video and she clicks on it to watch. 

“Hey guys! Welcome back! We’ve got some cool stuff to show you we’ve been working on this week and-” Peter’s cut off as someone else grabs the camera. MJ comes on the screen and she makes a face before pointing the camera back at Peter, letting him continue to talk. “-And we haven’t gotten it to dry faster yet, but check out how much stronger it is now!”

MJ zooms out to show Peter in front of a concrete wall. Morgan forgot her dad gave him permission to film in the parking garage so long as they didn’t film anything patented or personal… She’s even more upset now that she realizes they were here earlier and she could have watched. _Ugh_. 

MJ zooms out even further and shows Peter a few feet off the ground, standing on top of a stool covered in plastic wrap. Around his feet and attached to the wall, is slime. Ned pokes at it. “It’s ready,” he says and moves the stool. Peter stays right where he is, grinning.

That’s… That’s so cool. It would be even cooler if he made it pink and added a bunch of glitter…

Morgan scowls again. Stupid Peter. She doesn’t even know why she thought he would be helpful. Just because he makes great slime and does fun experiments and has a cool science channel. Just because he’s as smart as her and her dad. Just because he’s one of her dad’s favorite employees. Just because he’s always so nice to her. Just because he loves someone so deeply and so fully. Just because… he knows what it’s like to lose a parent. None of that matters. None of that was ever a guarantee that he’d help her, and he’s proven that twice. All he’s done is boss her around and completely miss the point- just like her Dad and Happy.   
No one takes her seriously. Ever.

She sneers at the video on her phone and closes the app, not bothering to finish watching. She’s just going to have to do this herself she decides, when she hears a _tap-tap_ at her balcony door. 

She walks toward it and peers outside and sees… a floating red cloak. 

“Jarvs, do you see what I see?” Morgan asks, voice barely above a whisper. She narrows her eyes, certain she’s seen this article of clothing before. But where?

“Affirmative, young miss,” he replies. Morgan doesn’t care if AI’s can’t sound mystified; JARVIS certainly does. 

The cloak waves at her rather cheerily she thinks, and she remembers.

“My sensors don’t detect anything mal-”

“You let me in Doctor Strange’s house!” Morgan squeals, letting it in.

“-icious,” JARVIS finishes with a hint of a sigh. 

“You only have to tell Dad if it’s a human intruder, right?” Morgan asks, double checking.

“That is correct, although I would advise against-”

But Morgan shushes him, grinning madly at the cloak. 

-

Morgan must be working on something; JARVIS says she hasn’t left her room all evening except to have a quick meal at the kitchen counter with him now. She’s bouncy, excited, and distracted, and he’s glad for it. Today (hell, their entire life) has been stressful and he worried he had been too hard on her. Not that she didn’t deserve the scolding, but still…

She’s obviously moved on, and can’t wait to get back to whatever it is she’s busy with. Tony grins, watching her take a huge bite so she can get back to her work. The apple really hasn’t fallen from the tree, but he’s proud to say that Pepper still managed to give him a few good habits; Tony never misses a meal with Morgan if he can help it. He refuses to raise her as carelessly as he’s prone to treat himself. 

“Whatcha workin on in there, kiddo?” he asks, mouth full of turkey and cheese and carrots. Morgan isn’t the only one in a hurry.

She shrugs and grins. “You’ll see, Daddy!”

He gets a hug and a kiss on the cheek without being asked, and she runs back to her room.

Tony shrugs, and heads back to his workshop, hoping it’s just not more super slime. He works at his desk for a while, toying with a few equations for a bit before his hands itch to do something. 

Beck has e-mailed him back, excited to work together again. Tony pulls up the specs for the drone he’s designing, when the flash of a thought crosses his mind. He pauses and squints, thinking. Why does he suddenly feel like he’s forgotten something?

He stares at the hologram of the Stark Transparency Drone a moment longer when he finally remembers. This morning, he’d had a drone help him look for Morgan… How had he forgotten? He’s so glad she crossed the street safely this morning. He’s not sure his heart can take any more excitement, though.

“Hey J, show me drone footage from this morning.”

“Yes, sir.”

JARVIS pulls up the correct file and Tony watches. When had a truck been there? Tony doesn’t remember seeing a truck… He watches in horror as Morgan steps into the street, just as its coming toward her.

He doesn’t remember this… How…?

He chokes and nearly cries out when he thinks the truck might hit her, but it never does. Stephen Strange appears, picks her up, and disappears. A moment later, he reappears again in front of Tony, gentle handing Morgan off to him. The taller man pauses for a moment before he disappears again. 

Tony stares, mouth open. He has JARVIS play it again and again until every second is ingrained in his mind’s eye. He’s practically vibrating with excitement when he sits back in his chair, a crazed look in his eye and ecstatic smile on his face.

“JARVIS…” he says, voice reverent. “I need this guy to work for me. I need to pick that brain apart yesterday!” he exclaims. Tony tries to take a deep breath. He hasn’t been this excited about someone since Banner and Pym. His thoughts are swirling, going a million miles a minute, trying to figure out how to best make this work. It would be so much easier if he had a little history on the guy…

“Any luck on finding out more about Strange, J?”

Without a word, dozens of documents appear before him. Apparently the doctor’s history isn’t as spotty as Tony originally thought; he just needed to dig a little deeper.

Tony grins. Now that he can read up on the guy, he’ll be able to talk him into negotiate to both of their benefits. It’s been about three years since Strange has been able to operate; Tony is certain he’ll love any opportunity Tony Stark of Stark Industries wants to hand him. 

He calls Happy and asks him if he’ll come over and keep an eye on Morgan for a bit. Happy grumbles as he’s on a date with May, but Tony offers a weekend all expenses paid get away for the two of them if he’ll come over.

Happy, with May in tow, arrives in record time.

-

Tony knocks on the heavy front doors of 177A Bleeker Street. After a few moments, the door flies wide open, and he comes face to face with just the man he was looking for.

But instead of saying anything, Strange just stares at him. Tony feels as if he’s being pinned to the spot like an insect by that gaze and for a moment it’s as if he can’t breathe. He wants to look away, but he can’t. In the back of his mind, Tony wonders if this is what drowning feels like.

Strange blinks and looks away and Tony takes a deep breath.

“What the hell are you do-” but Strange’s words are cut off by a loud sound.

Behind them, a figure comes crashing through the glass doors at the top of the stairs, and then over the railing to the floor. Shards scatter everywhere and Tony is nearly plowed over when a blur of red flies past him, wrapping itself around Strange protectively. A short man with a round face and a buzz cut scrambles across the floor, grabbing at his neck. An emerald green snake twists and writhes around his neck, hissing. In the next moment, the snake is thrown across the room, landing amongst the jagged bits of glass on the hardwood.

“Lo-” the man on the ground before them gasps again, still clutching at his throat. 

“Wong!” Stephen crouches next to the man, placing a hand on his back. “Are you alright?” 

“Loki’s- Loki’s back,” he finally croaks, barely able to speak.

Tony stares, wide-eyed, at the scene before him. “Does anyone want to explain what the hell is going on here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: And thus the IronStrange goodness begins. ;)


	8. Chapter 8

Morgan shuts the door to her bedroom, and turns around with a grin. “I’m back! You can come out now!”

The Cloak slowly pokes it’s collar out of her closet as if peaking at her. Her smile brightens and she beckons for it to come out. In a rush, it swoops toward her, floating at eye level with her so a good bit of the fabric trails on the hardwood. It doesn’t seem to mind, though. 

Morgan sits down at her desk and the cloak silently follows. “What should Daddy wear on the date?” she asks. It seems to ponder for a moment, then shrugs. 

Morgan nods in agreement. “Good thinking. Better just keep it casual.”

“Young miss, if I may-”

“You may _not_ ,” she tells JARVIS. “No one else is ruining this for my dad! Mr. Red Cape told me where Dr. Strange will be this weekend and they’re going to meet and like each other and there will be no punching and yelling. This time.”

“Of course there won’t be, young miss,” JARVIS replies. His words concur, but his tone does anything but. She sticks her tongue out at the ceiling and makes a point of ignoring the AI after that.

Morgan isn’t sure how much more planning they can do- According to the cloak, Dr. Strange usually takes a yoga class at a place on Bleeker St on Thursday evenings and likes to eat at _John's_ on his way home. Morgan plans on dragging her dad to yoga and dinner and just “happen” to run into Peter and- She scowls. There’s no way she’s going to ask _him_ to help again. She’ll have to think of something else. Dammit.

“Hey Morgs?” her dad calls through her bedroom door and she jumps a bit, startled. “I’ve got to head out for a bit but Happy and May are here. You good?”

“Yep! Bye!” She hopes she doesn’t sound too eager for him to leave but she really doesn’t want him to come in because how will she explain-

He tries the handle, cracking her door a bit and poking his head in. “You sure, kiddo?” he asks.

Morgan inhales to shout, but before she can she’s got a mouthful of fabric. The cloak is now a scarf wrapped neatly around her neck. 

Her dad raises a brow at her. “Are you… Did you knit that?” he asks, befuddled.

“Um. Yes.” She figures it’s best to just go along with it.

“Huh.” He nods slowly. “Looks good.” A pause. “I’ll just, uh- Okay, see ya. Listen to Happy and May and JARVIS!”

The door shuts. Morgan looks down at herself, eyes wide as saucers. She bringing her hands up to touch the thick fabric. She was already pretty certain it was magical what with the whole sentience thing. But this is _insane_. It looks like a cable knit scarf, but feels just like the cloak. Heavy, warm, almost vibrating. It’s amazing. 

“You’re magical,” she whispers in awe. “I _knew_ it.” The cloak/scarf gently wiggles in response. Morgan smiles softly. “Hey… Since my dad is going out for a bit, wanna check out his workshop? Dum-E and U have _got_ to meet you.” 

Happy barely glances up from the couch when Morgan says she’s going to her Dad’s workshop, telling her to stay out of trouble.

“Don’t turn back into a cloak until we get back to the lab,” she whispers to it on the elevator. “Daddy has eyes everywhere except there.”

U and Dum-E are fascinated by the cloak. Morgan knows U isn’t recording, but it still can’t help but stare the cloak up and down. Dum-E, much more forward with its curiosity, grasps at the cloak, trying to hold onto it. The cloak pulls its fabric out of Dum-E’s reach a few times before giving up and allowing the robot to manhandle it until a photo falls from its pocket. Morgan doesn’t remember seeing any pockets on it, though. Weird. The cloak tries to dive for the photo to quickly pick it back up, but it’s still caught in Dum-E’s grasp.

“Bad boy, Dum-E. Let go!” Morgan scolds, picking up the picture. She studies it for a while, her brows slowly rising. She doesn’t give it back to the cloak, who’s still struggling in the robot’s hold. It’s a photo of her dad. But it’s black and white and heavily aged. And instead of wearing an MIT shirt he’s wearing a button-up and vest. Instead of his manicured goatee he’s got a full beard. And instead of standing by a hologram he’s standing in front of a chalkboard. And that equation he’s working on… What in the world?  
“Why…” Morgan looks up at the cloak, then back down to the photograph in her hand. “What’s going on?” 

-

Where there was once a snake now sits a fully grown man, gingerly picking bits of wood and glass from his hair and suit.

“Don’t let him leave,” Dr. Strange says to the cloak. He refuses to look up at Tony but he hears him gasp when the cloak unclasps itself from his shoulders to wrap itself around the intruder’s middle like thick rope. Stark has seen too much (again) but there’s no altering the memory of a snake becoming a man or an article of clothing doing one’s bidding, especially since Stephen already altered his memory yesterday. Dammit. 

He wants to scream he’s so frustrated with himself, but Strange has too much pride to lose his cool like that. Even in this situation. ~~Especially in this situation.~~

He’s going to have to tell Stark the truth. Or part of it, anyway. And that’s going to require paperwork. And now whoever is after Stark is going to know that Strange is on to them because any human aware of their existence is public information. Stephen is going to have to be even _more_ vigilant now. While being on Stark’s radar. Fuck.

He can feel a head ache coming.

“I demand that you release me at once!” Loki snarls, teeth gnashing and eyes burning with contempt as he tries and fails to untangle himself from the cloak.

“Jarvis, call the cops,” Tony says, voice eerily light and serene. Stephen finally looks up at him and rolls his eyes at the sight. Tony Stark looks about five seconds away from throwing up. Or fainting. “Or maybe an ambulance. Jesus…” Tony looks from Loki to Stephen. “What-?” 

“That won’t be necessary,” Stephen says. 

“Sir, I am unable to contact the authorities at this time.”

Tony seems to snap out of it a bit at that and he glares at Stephen, certain he’s to blame for JARVIS malfunctioning even if he can’t prove it. Which is, of course, true. Stephen doesn’t need any more mortals to deal with. “Oh, I’m sorry, did you want _Jafar_ to stay?!” Tony asks, voice a little hysterical.

Loki eyes Stark for a moment, a grin quickly replacing his snarl. Stephen gives him a warning glare but Loki neither notices nor cares. “Oh my, Strange, what will the ‘Ancient One’ say when-” He never gets to finish his thought though because Stephen has temporarily taken his voice.

“What is Stark doing here?” Wong finally speaks up, still rubbing at his throat.

Stephen sighs. “We’ll talk about it later,” he mutters. “Make sure Thing Two stays put until Thing One comes to collect him. He’s still on probation.” Wong smirks. “Gladly.” Loki rolls his eyes and glowers at them both.

Stephen approaches Tony, walking through the debris strewn across the ornate hardwood. “Mr. Stark, we should talk,” he says, voice low. “Somewhere private.”

Tony raises a brow. “I can’t tell if you’re threatening me or coming on to me right now, Doctor,” he quips, despite the situation. Stephen almost catches himself smirking. Almost. He scowls.

Stephen clears his throat, hoping his face isn’t as hot as it feels. He narrows his eyes at Stark, never breaking eye contact. Thanks to him, Stephen’s job just got a whole lot more difficult. “If it’s either, I assure you it’s the _former_ ,” he snaps and grabs the other man’s upper arm, transporting them both to his study without warning. 

Tony yelps, his knees nearly giving out. Stephen gently steadies him with both arms, just in case. Tony feels sturdy and warm and real in his grasp and Stephen’s hands tingle and hum at the contact. He lets go and steps back, putting distance between them. 

“What the- what the hell?” Tony stumbles, looking around the study. Stephen tries to explain but Tony starts talking again before he can. 

“You did that when you saved Morgan!” Tony says, pointing a finger at Stephen as if he’s accusing him of something, not pointing out how he’s helped. “How are you doing that? Oh my god _tell_ _me_.” Stephen takes a deep breath and tries not to glare at the human too much. “If you could calm down for, oh, I don’t know, two seconds? I’m trying to explain,” he says dryly.

There’s no comfortable place to sit and sign a few forms, so Stephen calls a table and chairs into his study. They appear in the middle of the room and Tony looks torn between fainting and squealing in excitement at the display. Stephen finds he's pleased with himself. Wong would accuse him of being unnecessarily showy, but Wong isn’t here right now.

“Sit down, Mr. Stark,” Stephen says, voice low. For once, Tony doesn’t have a smart remark. He quickly sits down, staring at Stephen with wide, fascinated eyes. Tony finally looks down at the table, breaking eye contact, and Stephen can breathe again. Tony frowns at the table, mumbling things under his breath (most likely to his ever-present AI). He touches the grain of the wood, studying it with the gaze of intensity Stephen has grown accustomed to over the… eons. 

Stephen feels himself growing hot around the collar again and shifts his gaze to the left of Stark’s head. A moment ago, his stomach was boiling with frustration and anger at the man and this entire situation. But now all the fight has left him, and with it his motivation to speak. He doesn’t… Stephen sighs. He knows he’s got to explain what’s going on now, but he hesitates. He doesn’t want to worry the man anymore than he’s already worried. Despite the look of interest on Tony’s face, Stephen can see the tension from years of stress surrounding the human like a jagged force-field. 

But there’s no helping it.

“I’m an Observer, assigned to this and a dozen other dimensions by the High Council to watch and record the ever-expanding facets of Consciousness,” Stephen says, voice carrying through the room as if he’s standing all around and not seated in one place. 

Tony startles and looks around, uncomfortable. “That is not what your LinkedIn page says,” he replies, obviously uncertain of what to do with this new information. Stephen doesn’t blame him. “Neurosurgeon was a good enough cover story as any,” he replies haughtily. Tony looks to his hands. Stephen frowns and places them under the table.  
“That doesn’t explain the disappearing or the conjuring or the teleporting or the _snake_ _man_ ,” Tony continues pointedly. “I don’t care about your weird cult. What kind of tech are you using? Who’s funding your work? Because I can easily triple whatever it is they’re giving you.”

Stephen rolls his eyes. “I’m not in a cult,” he says with disdain. “My kind can utilize an energy undetectable to a human’s limited senses.”

Tony raises a skeptic brow. “’Undetectable to humans’… What, are you, evil Spock?” he asks, motioning at his facial hair for some reason.

Stephen disappears from his seat across from Tony and reappears next to him. “This isn’t human technology.” He allows Tony a momentary glimpse of his true form and watches with satisfaction as Tony’s eyes trail over his many arms, mouth agape. 

“This is starting to sound like magic,” Tony says, nose wrinkled. “Ew.” His words are dismissive and light, but Stephen can tell he’s shaken.

“I’m just going to get to the point,” Stephen continues, now that he’s certain Tony will take him seriously. “You’re in danger, Mr. Stark.”

Tony snorts. “No, shit.”

“I don’t think you understand,” Stephen persists. “There are forces beyond your control- forces you can’t even see- that would have you _dead_.”

Tony blinks. “And Rhodey thinks _I’m_ dramatic,” he says to himself. “How do you know this? Why should I listen to you?” Tony asks him, voice skeptical. “Did your cape tell you?”

“Are you- Are you being serious right now?” Stephen asks, growing annoyed. “There’s been an attempt on your life and an attempted kidnapping and-”

“I _knew_ it wasn’t random!” Tony interrupts and pounds the table, sounding far too pleased for a man who’s just been told someone is actively attempting to end his life. His grin falters and he snaps his gaze back to Stephen. “Wait. If you’re an observer, then why are you helping me? Isn’t observing a bit more passive than turning a shooter in to the cops or apprehending a kidnapping?”

Stephen scowls. Stark sounds like Wong and everyone else now. His argument has always been that whoever keeps doing this needs to be brought to justice. If that answer is good enough for the Ancient One, then it ought to be good enough for everyone else as well. Except he’s not about to tell Tony anymore than he already has. 

Letting him know he’s been helping behind the scenes is one thing. Letting him know that he’s been following every reincarnation of his soul that he possibly can is entirely different.

“That’s classified,” Stephen says with a shrug. “I need you to sign this.” Paperwork appears before Tony. It’s a Non-disclosure Agreement.

“What’s this for?” Tony asks. Stephen levels him with an even gaze. “Don’t play dumb. Surely you don’t expect me to let you walk out of here without ensuring your discretion?”

“You can apparently conjure things from thin air,” Tony deadpans. “I don’t think you need me to sign this to keep me quiet.”

“That’s correct,” Stephen concedes, not elaborating.

“But you still need me to sign this,” Tony says, picking up the top page and skimming it. “To appease your ‘High Council of Observers’, am I right?”

Stephen nods, wondering where this train of thought is going. 

“I’ll sign your form, then,” Tony says. “If you agree to work for Stark Industries.”

Stephen stares at him. “I just told you someone is trying to kill you. And you’re turning this into a business deal.” What is wrong with this man?

“Someone’s been trying to kill me since I was twenty-eight,” Tony says with far too much nonchalance for Stephen’s liking. “You haven’t told me anything new.” A pause. “Do we have a deal or not?”

Stephen’s heart swells uncomfortably and he frowns. The last thing Stephen needs to do right now is spend more time with Tony. “I’m not a robotics engineer, Mr. Stark,” he sighs, exasperated.

“Yeah? Well, you weren’t a neurosurgeon, either.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: This chapter was getting long so I ended it here. Next time we'll get back to Loki, learn more about Stephen and co., and see what's going on at Stark Industries. There's a new character and we'll get a visit from someone who's already been introduced... Thanks for reading y'all!! I'm off to finally see Dr. Doolittle with my little girl. :)


	9. Chapter 9

“Why are you so adamant about this?” Stephen asks.

Tony just stares at him like it’s obvious. “You saved my daughter’s life. Whatever you want to call what you’re able to do…” His voice trails off for a moment, eyes roaming the space around Stephen’s head, most likely looking for extra appendages again. Tony’s eyes, sharp and discerning, land on his again and Stephen swallows on reflex, licking his lips.

“I have a few projects you could help with,” Stark says bluntly. “You can’t fault me for wanting you on my team,” he continues with a ‘what do you expect me to do?’ shrug. “Keep your friends close and your genius stalkers closer. Or however it goes.” Tony finishes, waving at the air dismissively.

“Stalker is a bit dramatic,” Stephen interjects dryly.

“Oh, I”m sorry,” Tony replies sarcastically. “ _Observer._ ” A pause. “So, do we have a deal? I sign this, you work for me... Everybody wins.”

Stephen has no difficulty seeing where Morgan gets it from now; it would seem blackmail is one of the few interpersonal skills the Starks seem to possess. He’s dealing with a child. Great.

For a moment Stephen wants to keep arguing. It’s impossible to be around Tony Stark and not get ~~sucked into his gaze~~ a headache from how obnoxious he is. He could just flat out refuse to help and never collect a signature. It would be tiring to deal with the Council, but anything would be better than continuing to share the same oxygen as this man-child.

He looks at Tony for a moment, contemplating his options. Tony lifts his chin, gaze unflinching. There’s a small grin on his face and his body language seems perfectly relaxed. Stark has almost perfected an air of bravado, cultivated from years of constantly being smarter than everyone around him and thus nearly always getting his way. 

But it’s just a facade, and Tony’s tells have always been the same, in any lifetime. There’s a line of tension in his shoulders that never disappears. He’s always ready, always waiting, for the next bad thing. There’s always a calculation, a manipulation, to make, to protect what he holds dear. There’s always that lost, frightened look, hidden so deep within his eyes Stephen nearly misses it. Nearly. 

Tony Stark does not ask for help. This is the only way he knows how.

“I will agree to consultations. Nothing more, nothing less,” Stephen concedes, voice betraying nothing. Tony’s grin widens, the skin around his eyes crinkling happily. Stephen looks away.

-

Tony stops to get a coffee before heading home. Happy says Morgan is sound asleep now and if he’s being honest, he needs to unpack a few things before he talks to anyone else.

“Give me everything you found on ‘The Observers’, Jay,” he says, walking back to his car with an espresso. But there are no results. Tony frowns, searching for anything on illusion technology and even beings with multiple arms.

JARVIS supplies image and document after image and document about beings with multiple arms, and the most credible things he finds are from mythology, religion, and horror fiction. Tony snorts and dismisses everything the AI suggests. Just because he hasn’t found a scientific explanation yet doesn’t mean that one doesn’t exist.

He frowns and asks JARVIS to give him any information he can find on people claiming to have witnessed teleportation, but that search is fruitless as well. Frustrated, he puts his phone in his pocket and goes to open the driver door. 

There’s a thick black envelope resting on top of his car.

He raises a brow in suspicion, but JARVIS says it’s harmless so it picks it up. It’s heavy and sealed with black wax and stamped with an eye he swears is looking at him. Tony curls his lip in disgust and breaks the seal to find cream colored stationery paper with a giant black logo on the top bearing the same creepy-ass eye. 

His eyes scan the paper and Tony isn’t certain if he wants to laugh or check himself into a hospital. He’s holding a cease and desist letter from the High Council of Observers, kindly asking Soul 5,326,586,223,198, alias Tony Stark, to please immediately refrain from enquiring into the nature of the Council and its members as this action constitutes a breach in contract.

It is signed, _Sincerely, The Ancient One_. 

Tony pulls his phone back out, intent on calling Stephen Strange and asking him what the _hell_ he thinks he’s doing, when a man on a motorbike pulls up next to him.

“I thought that was you, Mr. Stark!” the man says, taking his helmet off. It’s Quentin Beck, one of his employees from R and D. Beck is smart, if a bit full of himself. Not that Tony has much room to talk.

Tony puts the letter in his pocket. He’s annoyed at having been interrupted, but reminds himself that Beck isn’t the person to take it out on. Especially since he’s on Tony’s team working on the drones now. Pepper always reminded him to be less of a dick to his scientists and engineers. He tries to keep that in mind now. 

“How are you tonight?” Tony asks, sounding stiff and unnatural.

Beck smiles kindly. “You seem busy so I won’t keep you, just wanted to say hi,” he says. Tony finds himself relaxing and cracks a genuine smile himself at those words. 

“I’ll see you in the morning,” Tony replies, reaching for his car door.

“Looking forward to it,” Beck says earnestly, reaching a gloved hand forward for a handshake. Tony stares at the glove for a moment before finally taking it. He swears he can hear Pepper telling him that it’s not as difficult to be polite to others as he’s making it seem. He begs to differ.

Tony looks at the letter again and drives home, feeling a headache coming on. He parks in the garage and forgets his coffee in the car. He rides the elevator up and presses a hand between his eyes, wondering why his head is killing him all of a sudden. 

JARVIS alerts him that a police officer is downstairs asking to speak with him. His name is Steve Rogers and he’s from the 1st Precinct, where the shooting almost took place. Tony wants to meet with him, but he’s got to sit down for a while and take something for his head. He has JARVIS tell the officer he’ll get back to him tomorrow.

Happy and May must have retired to the guest bedroom as no one is in the main area of his suite when he arrives. His head is pounding at this point, but he has to lay eyes on Morgan before he can rest. Tony opens her door and finds her passed out on top of her covers. He smiles despite his splitting headache and puts a blanket over her.

Tony nearly makes it to his bedroom when the pounding in his head rises to an unbearable crescendo. He staggers a bit and clutches at the wall to break his fall. But it’s too late and he crumples to the floor.

“Tony! Tony, what’s wrong?” Pepper asks, crouching beside him. “Do you need something?” She puts a hand on his back and a hand on his forehead and the pain is gone. Tony leans into the touch and smiles. “I’m perfect now,” he says, nuzzling into her hand.

She smiles at him sweetly and helps him up. “You should get some fresh air,” she says, leading him through the bedroom and out onto the balcony. “Sit down, look at the stars with me,” she says, patting the spot beside her by the ledge. “You’re working too hard, love.” 

\- 

Stephen, sensing where Wong is, opens the nearest door to step into the kitchen on the second floor. Wong sits across the table from Loki who, for a man practically swaddled in cloth like a baby, manages to look both bored and Extremely Above the situation around him. The only option available when one has no voice but all the pride in the world, most likely. Stephen wonders if the kitchen was quite the best place given all the _knives_ , but it’s probably better than setting him down in a room full of artifacts. 

Seeing as he’s clearly come to use one. 

“When’s Thor coming to sign him out of detention?” Stephen asks Wong sarcastically. Loki rolls his eyes. 

“He said he was on his way,” Wong replies, glaring at their prisoner. Loki grins devilishly at him. Wong scowls. 

Thunder rolls in the distance and a moment later, Thor appears before them. Loki rolls his eyes again. Stephen beckons for the Cloak and it instantly releases Loki, flying back toward him. “ _Where_ were you today?” The Cloak gives a vague half-shrug. Stephen narrows his eyes. “We’ll talk about this later,” he whispers.

“Why have you called me to your sector?” Thor asks the room at large, looking about. His eyes settle on Loki and the longer he glares, the more understanding seems to set in. “What have you done _this_ time,” he demands, nearly exasperated. 

Loki pointedly looks at Stephen, who begrudgingly restores his voice.

Loki makes a show of clearing his throat, touching a hand to his neck as if he’d been in discomfort. Thor’s glare weakens, slipping into a frown. “Was that really necessary, Strange?” he asks.

“Exceedingly,” Stephen replies.

“I simply came to borrow a doorway, as it were,” Loki says sweetly.

“You know you’re not allowed to jump dimensions until your time is served,” Thor says, trying to reason with him.

Loki narrows his eyes. “I refuse to be held prisoner.” A pause. “Especially when I haven’t done anything.”

“You attempted to take over our sector thirty years ago,” Stephen reminds him. 

Loki shrugs. “I’ve moved on,” he says flippantly. “I keep telling you all-”

“That still doesn’t change the fact that you’re not allowed to go anywhere without your keeper until otherwise told,” Stephen reminds him, cutting him off.

“You would know all about that, wouldn’t you, Strange?” Loki says with a sneer. “How does it feel to be stuck on this trivial ball of _mud_ for the foreseeable future?”

“You’re free to go with Thor,” Stephen says mildly, refusing to take the bait. “Expect a summons within the week. The Council has been alerted to your violation.” 

“The Council is full of pribbling _imbeciles_ ,” Loki responds. “I should think you’d have better things to worry about right now than bureaucracy. Like making sure Tony Stark doesn’t kill himself.” He grins slowly. “ _Again."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **NB:** I did away with chapter titles because these aren't true chapters, but segments to a story. Plus they took forever to come up with and I don't have that kind of time lol. I never picked a location for it, but the Potts Charity Ball was held at Tribeca 360. I think it's fitting for Rogers to be an officer in that area. I know it's not Brooklyn but Brooklyn wouldn't make sense for this fic lol. I was also going to get back to Peter this time but Tony took over, my bad. I'm curious to see what y'all think is happening. :) Thanks for reading!!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Padmasana- lotus pose.  
> Mudra- hand gesture utilized for meditation.  
> Apaan mudra- middle and ring finger to thumb. This is a purification mudra.  
> Prana- breath, life force, energy.  
> Chakra- energy center in the body. In Hindu philosophy, which a great deal of this story is based on, there are seven. So far this fanfic has mentioned two: the throat chakra (vishudda chakra) and the third eye (ajna charka). In this world, different types of magic utilize different chakra points. I will use the sanskrit and English interchangeably at times. 
> 
> **NB:** The first section of this story goes back in the story a bit, showing what happened with Morgan right after the cloak left. This scene will be moved in a week or so to flow better with the story but I post this as I write it and it was written now. lol. Sorry for any confusion.

The cloak tries it’s hardest to get the photograph from Morgan’s grasp. At one point she’s on top of a workbench, running back and forth and knocking countless tools to the floor in her attempt to out-maneuver the magical garment. It doesn’t hurt that Dum-E and U are on her side and think catching the red fabric is just as fun as setting her dad’s projects on fire, so they’re surprisingly good help for once. 

Morgan isn’t sure how much longer she can keep this up, though. She’s getting tired and out of breath from all the running and the cloak doesn't seem to show any signs of slowing down. She’s cornered in the far left of the lab, certain it’s going to get the picture back, when suddenly the cloak freezes and turns away from her as if looking off into the distance. And then it flies out of the lab, leaving Morgan and the robots looking from each other to the door. 

“Well. That was weird,” Morgan says to the room. She pushes away from the wall and dusts herself off, placing the photograph on her father’s desk. “Give me a reading, JARVIS.”

“Certainly, young miss.”

JARVIS tells her the results and she asks him to double and triple-check. He does, and he gets the same result. Morgan frowns, perplexed. According to the AI, this is 100% a photograph of her father. Only this particular photo is approximately 331 years old and photography was invented about 200 years ago. What’s even crazier, the solution used to develop the photo is made up of a few chemical compositions Morgan has never even _seen_ before. And she would know; Dr. Banner had her memorize the periodic table two years ago. Some of these elements simply _don’t exist_ on earth.

How can her dad be in a picture this old? And how can this photo be made from things that don’t exist? She frowns, narrowing her eyes as her mind works through possibility after possibility. A mystery this big would stump a lesser mind, but Morgan knows it’s a simple Holmesian fallacy. “When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.”

Morgan has already figured out the equation for true love and met a magical, sentient cape. Now she’s _clearly_ just discovered the existence of time travel and alternate dimensions or some weird combination of the two. “Awesome.” She grins.

Morgan grabs her tablet to check and see where her dad is. She needs to know how much more time she has to use his lab. She nearly screams in delight when she finds him at Dr. Strange’s home in Greenwich; maybe she won’t have to try so hard to get them to hangout after all. 

The program lags a bit, which it never does. She frowns, running a few diagnostics to make sure everything is alright. She turns white as paper when she’s told her security was breached at 9:43 AM this morning. 

When Adrian Toomes had tried to kidnap her.

Or had he? What if he had just been after her tablet? In order to weaken Stark Industries security, or worse, to steal her father’s intellectual property… Like the kind she herself had swiped a few weeks ago in order to test her match-making application. Come to think of it, he _had_ grabbed at her bag as much as he had grabbed at her...

But how would he have known she had anything important? The only people who knew were Peter and his friends. But Peter could never be behind something like a kidnapping or robbery. He makes science videos for kids for fun in his spare time for crying out loud. He’s the like patron saint of science and wholesomeness. 

Still… How did Toomes find out? And how has it gone undetected this whole time?

Tears well in Morgan’s eyes when she realizes just how badly she’s messed up. Because of her, someone awful could have access to countless networks and billions of individual’s personal information. Because of her, her father’s hard work could be stolen. Because of her, her dad’s safety could be at risk. More than it already is.

She should have listened to Peter. She should have given the tech back when he told her to. Her lower lip trembles and she dashes out of the lab, only just remembering to take her tablet with her. 

Happy and May are watching a movie and there’s a few boxes of pizza on the kitchen counter. Luckily her bedroom is across from the elevator; she makes a sharp right before Happy can catch a glimpse of her face. Morgan slams her door, leaning against it as her chest heaves. It feels as if her knees might give out, so she sits down on her bed, trying not to panic.

But panic is filing her like water in a sinking boat and she can’t seem to make it stop. She’s messed up. She’s messed up so badly. She’s messed up so badly and it’s _all her fault_.

Fingers trembling, Morgan calls Peter. But he doesn’t answer. She calls three more times and finally gives up, calling his friends Ned and MJ instead. They don’t answer, either, and anxiety and hopelessness engulf her like a wave. She cries. 

-

Stephen decides to skip the formalities and appears in Stark’s living room. The penthouse suite is quiet and dark; all its inhabitants must be sleeping. Stephen widens his awareness and finds Happy Hogan and May Parker asleep in the guestroom. Morgan Stark is tossing and turning in her own bed, but is asleep nonetheless.

Stephen searches further and finds Tony Stark on the balcony. On the edge. 

Stephen appears on the balcony just in time to watch Tony Stark turn to smile at nothing before leaning forward, falling over the railing. “Shit!” Stephen exclaims. A moment later and he’s willed time to slow enough for him to get to Stark and grab him by the back of his shirt, hauling his idiotic, hallucinating ass back over the completely useless railing. 

“I did _not_ ” Stephen grunts, shifting Tony in his arms. “-sign up for this.”

Tony’s eyes flutter and he grins lazily up at Stephen. “Yes, you did,” he replies, gaze finally coming into focus. “I have the paperwork to prove it, too,” he finishes with a wink. Stephen’s heart flutters painfully and he clears his throat, looking away as he blushes. “Last I checked, NDAs didn’t cover babysitting,” he snips without any real feeling behind the words. Tony clearly thinks that he’s someone else right now. Stephen isn’t certain why that bothers him.

“Non Disclosure?” Stark snorts, laughing. “Is that what we’re calling it these days?”

“Well, what would you call it?” Stephen snaps despite himself, genuine emotion bleeding through now.

Tony sits up, looking at him with predatory precision. “Morgan’s in bed and here we are, wasting time arguing semantics.” Tony’s voice is low and suggestive and Stephen feels it all the way in the pit of his stomach. And lower. He opens his mouth to speak, but Tony cuts him off with a kiss.

For a moment Stephen freezes, eyes wide. Tony brings both hands to his cheeks, thumbs drawing lazy, soft circles. He slides a single hand behind his head, drawing the taller man closer, sucking him in. Stephen can’t breathe. But he doesn’t think he needs to. His eyes flutter, almost closing. Tony draws his lower lip into his mouth and finally, _finally,_ Stephen snaps out of it.

With trembling hands, he grabs Tony’s own and slowly, gently, draws away from the other man. It feels nearly impossible. 

“I think… I know I’m dreaming,” Tony slurs softly, gaze unfocused again. “You’re gone. You’ve been gone for _ages_.” Tony clears his throat and tries to smile, because even like this he tries to pretend he’s fine. “But, hey, this was really nice.”

Tony loses consciousness and Stephen’s hands begin to burn. He looks at them and when he finds nothing there, he looks again with his third eye. Traces of an illusion curse are trying to seep into his skin. A human wouldn’t feel anything until it was too late. Until it was already in the mind. 

So, that’s what happened to Tony. 

Stephen swears under his breath before working quickly to extract the curse. He lays Tony on the balcony, flat on his back. Stephen sits in padmasana beside him, takes the apaan mudra with his visible hands, and comes into his astral form. Stephen maintains the mudra and places his other hands at each of Tony’s chakra points, drawing the curse from his prana and destroying it.

It takes a few minutes, and when he’s done Stephen doesn’t gently float back into his body like usual but instead flies into it with such force it feels like he’s hit a brick wall. His head is _killing_ him after using so much magical energy. He brings a hand, now shaking even harder, to his forehead. His body apparently isn’t doing much better than his head. 

“Is my daddy going to be okay?” a tiny voice asks from the entrance to the balcony.

Stephen turns slightly to see Morgan. He wonders how long she's been standing there. It’s past midnight and she’s still wearing the same clothing from that morning. He thinks of their first encounter, and how prideful and insufferable she had been. Her face is streaked with tears and there isn’t a hint of the brattiness he had witnessed then. He thinks of the evening he saw a lonely child sitting on her balcony, talking to a photograph of her mother. Stephen thinks this version might be a bit closer to the true Morgan Stark.

“He’s going to feel pretty awful for a few days, but he’ll be fine,” he says softly.

Morgan comes forward and throws herself at her father, who continues to sleep. She doesn’t cry, just hides her face in her father’s neck, taking deep, shaky breaths. After a few minutes, she sits up, wiping at her face. Stephen curls his nose in disgust but holds his tongue, opting to just conjure her a tissue and try to jumpstart a ~~less disgusting~~ better habit. She thanks him and blows her nose.

“I messed up,” she says, voice quiet.

“What do you mean?” he asks, trying to sound gentle.

Morgan explains everything, too upset and desperate and tired to hide or edit anything. She tells him about how wanting to make her dad happy again led to discovering the equation for love. And how that had led her to swiping her father’s technology in order to find the perfect person. And how that had led her to blackmailing Peter Parker. 

Oh, and apparently deciding that he, Stephen Strange, was a perfect match for her father.

Stephen tries to keep a straight face as the distraught child talks, but she’s too ridiculous to take seriously. As if he would ever have those sorts of feelings. And for a _human_ , no less. Absolutely not.

His expression must betray him, because she’s glaring at him. “If you think it’s such a ridiculous idea, then how come you’re protecting my dad? And how come your cloak’s helped me? And how come you have a super old picture of my dad that shouldn’t even exist!?” Morgan’s breathing heavy and her cheeks are flushed.

Well. That answers the mystery of the missing cloak this afternoon.

“Finish your story, Miss Stark,” Stephen prompts, avoiding the subject entirely. 

“My tablet was hacked this morning. When Toomes grabbed me,” she says miserably. “I don’t think he was after me. He was after my dad’s tech,” she says through tears. “A-and now he’s got it. B-because I stole it!”

Stephen narrows his eyes, contemplating her words. “We can use this to our advantage,” he says, thinking out loud.

Morgan sniffles again, but looks intrigued at the idea of being able to spin this whole shit show into something favorable. He’s not surprised. The girl is spoiled, idyllic, and naive. She’s probably never been made to struggle a hardship worse than a papercut.

“Where is your tablet now?” Stephen asks. 

“On my bed,” she says.

For a second Stephen thinks about having her grab it herself, but he’s not a patient man. Besides, Morgan already knows too much; he was going to place a seal on her throat chakra to prevent anyone else from learning what she’s learned thanks to a _certain_ sentient, magical artifact, anyway. 

Stephen creates a small tear in the fabric of space and time to reach through and grab her tablet. Morgan stares at him, mouth agape, which reminds him that her father will have to sign her NDA. Stephen wonders what Tony will try to get out of him this time.

“What are you smiling about?” Morgan asks. Stephen wonders when she had scooted closer to him. He scowls and sits up, ignoring her remark to look the tablet over with his third eye. 

He sees a curse, acting like a virus, that has infiltrated the software. He focuses on the curse until everything surrounding it disappears. Then he looks past the malevolent energy in _this_ moment and into the journey it has taken to get here, expanding his view of the world around it once more. 

It’s like watching a movie in reverse. He sees the curse leave the balcony and go back to her bedroom. He sees Morgan crying, having a meltdown. He sees the elevator, and Tony’s workshop. He sees a photograph and his blood runs cold, concentration nearly breaking, but he brings his attention back to the curse. He sees the cloak revealing its nature to Morgan, sees it appearing at her window. ~~He sees himself turning it into curtains for the bathroom in the very near future.~~

He sees Morgan in the street and the moment he saves her. He sees her at Starbucks with Peter Parker, telling him everything she knows. He sees her running away from the police station. He sees her waiting for her father, looking tense and annoyed and worried. He sees her struggling with Toomes and _now_ , he reaches the moment the curse is passed to Morgan’s tablet. He sees it being slapped on carelessly, transferring from a thin bit of paper that disappears the moment the curse leaves it. 

Then he sees the curse lying dormant, waiting. He sees it being handed to Toomes by someone, but their identity is hidden behind a powerful disguise spell. Stephen thinks he’s hit a dead end, but the curse’s journey does not begin there. The movie continues to rewind. The curse is dormant, waiting once more. The hidden figure must be a middle man, then.

All at once he sees flames and darkness and eyes that aren’t really eyes. The curse is created. He has reached the beginning. Coming back to the present moment, Stephen is wide-eyed and shaking worse than ever before. That can’t- It can’t be him. Why-

“Are you okay, Mr. Strange?” Morgan asks, placing a tiny hand on Stephen’s shoulder. He tries to respond, but he’s used far too much magical energy today. Stephen loses consciousness before he slumps over, hitting his head on the concrete floor with a dull thud.

Morgan looks from Stephen, to her father, and back again a few times. 

“JARVIS?” she calls, voice high pitched and anxious. 

“Yes, young miss?” 

“Call Happy,” she says, trying not to freak out again.

Within seconds, Morgan can hear the elevator open. Two of Happy’s officers, a man and a woman, come out onto the balcony. It’s the two from the other night; the one’s she had run away from- Natasha Romanov and Clint Barton.

Romanov takes one look at Tony Stark on the floor and puts the building on lock-down, calling the police.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NB: I keep saying we're going to get back to Peter but I swear it's happened, haha. He's the first scene in the next chapter. For those of you who miss the Morgan+Peter shenanigans. :)


End file.
